Shattered Shields - eARC (23 page)
Read Shattered Shields - eARC Online
Authors: Jennifer Brozek,Bryan Thomas Schmidt
“Remember what you can while there’s something to recall.”
“Too late, boss. It’s gone. Only…Buzz was in it somewhere. He had on a smiley mask.”
“Really? And us without a wizard to hypnotize you.”
He
wanted
the Lady to have sent me a dream. “If Goblin was here, we could make him channel her.” Goblin could provide an occasional direct link, letting the Lady use his mouth. That was rough on him, but I did not mind. It made for less strain on me. And
he
does not get accused of inappropriate fraternization when she uses him.
Two Dead groaned. The knockout painkillers were wearing off. I checked his dressing. “I’ve had the same nightmare every night since the wizards disappeared.”
“But didn’t say anything even though
she
was in there.”
“
Because
she was in them.”
“Yes. Let us not deliver live ammunition into the hands of anyone who might taunt us. Is there a connection?”
“Maybe.” I had had no such suspicion before. We all dream. Sometimes we have nightmares. Those seldom make sense, the little we recall. I had never thought mine meant anything special. Now I got it. She had wanted to tell me something, but I would not listen.
It had been a busy double dozen hours since Zhorab whispered “Flies,” the hours fat with events boasting an almost dreamlike lack of dynamic structure.
Two Dead lapsed into a deeper sleep after I applied another pad soaked green.
* * *
The door opened. Cold and snow and Otto burst in to bellow, “Look what I caught me this time.”
He had a groggy Goblin by the scruff. The little toad sagged there, cross-eyed, his pupils not right. “What’s wrong with him?”
“I thumped him some to make him cooperate. He maybe has a little concussion.”
Some folks find Goblin or One-Eye getting thumped a blessed notion.
The wizard rasped, “He didn’t have no call to attack me. I was on my way here anyways.”
Nobody swallowed that.
The captain demanded, “Where you been? And why? Take into consideration my current lack of tolerance for your customary bullshit.”
I checked Buzz again, then moved in on Goblin.
His eyes uncrossed. His little turd brain began to function, sort of. “The Lady touched me.” He gave me an ugly look. “I was happy out there in my cave. But here she came because her honey bear was always asleep or drunk when she tried to get with him. I run off because when Chodroze turned up I remembered his sidekick from Charm. Him and me went eye to eye and claw to claw back then.”
Buzz was on the other side, then? Not a window-rattling reveal. Others had shifted allegiance in preference to getting dead, Whisper herself included. I had helped set her up. She has nurtured an unreasonable animosity ever since.
Goblin said, “I needed privacy. I had to dip into the demon realms to winkle out the truth.”
The Old Man made an impatient “Come on!” gesture.
“I also wanted out of sight so Tesch wouldn’t remember me. Back then he was called Essentially Capable Shiiraki, the Spellsmith.”
I remembered that odd name. “I thought he went into the mass grave with all the other Rebel wizards.”
“His family thought so. But I found a surviving familiar who knew the true story. Adequately motivated, it barfed up the details.”
“Adequately motivated?” the Old Man asked.
“I told it I wouldn’t report it to the Lady. Seeing as how it had gotten dragged into the Tower after the fighting, it wasn’t inclined to go back.”
I understood that sentiment.
“What
is
going on?” the Old Man demanded. “You having had a heart-to-heart with this friendly devil.”
“It’s complicated and insane. Chodroze believes he was sent here to see if we’ve found the Port of Shadows thing. He is supposed to destroy it if he can. Messing with us was bonus fun. But Tesch had a darker mission. He was supposed to kill Chodroze and frame the Company for it. And get control of the Port of Shadows if it’s real.
Not
to destroy it. And he had orders to take out the Company leadership if the chance presented itself.”
I blurted, “Buzz was supposed to murder Two Dead?”
“Chodroze must’ve made Whisper really unhappy.”
Two Dead was a long-time favorite of Whisper’s. “She is one vindictive bitch.”
She had loathed the world with smoldering fury since the moment she had become Taken. Taking made her one of the most powerful beings on earth but a slave of the Lady as well.
My drowsiness fled. “Two Dead might be the good guy? Buzz might be the villain?” Everything I had worked out must be wrong. “Where does One-Eye fit?”
The captain leaned in, daring Goblin to be less than completely forthright.
“I don’t know anymore. He stuck with me at the start, but he grabbed his poison sack and took off when Tesch called up the infested
chinkami.
He knew what they were. Don’t ask me how. The little turd knows way too much shit that nobody ought to. He said we would be in the shit really deep after the cold weather broke. That’s the last we saw of him.”
The captain asked, “You got that from the Lady?”
“Mostly I figured it out myself. She only touched me because her honey wouldn’t listen. Going to suck to be you, Croaker. Your woman ain’t happy.” He grinned, showing teeth in desperate need of cleaning.
Why worry? She was weather. I would suffer through. “Instructive, though, eh? Her knowing what’s going on out here when she’s denned up a thousand miles away?” Some of us have trouble remembering what she can do.
The Old Man observed, “What is instructive is that while she sees every sparrow fall she mainly just lets them go
plop!
People like Whisper keep digging deeper holes by going right on pulling stupid tricks. They’ll cry hard when she finally brings the hammer down.”
That was long-winded for him. Remarkable things must be happening inside his head.
He fixed Goblin with his hard stare. “Tell me again, magic munchkin. Where is One-Eye? What is he up to?” He gestured. Otto moved over to wrangle the Third when the questioning turned to him. “What’s the blowback likely to be once HQ hears that Buzz and Two Dead screwed the pooch?”
Goblin shuffled. “Some major ass-covering. Tesch will turn out to be some deep-cover Rebel mole. Chodroze was always a loose ballista who let personal grudges color his judgment. It will be all our fault, somehow.”
I observed, “Same old, same old. How about if they both survive? Will that shift the battlefield under everybody’s feet?”
“You pull them through, we could see some wicked real excitement on down the road.
She
might even show an interest.”
The captain said, “We are the cow flop she uses to distract the flies out here.”
Yes. Our big boss was running a long con. This was another knot in the cord. I said, “I
will
save them.”
“Standing around with your thumb in your ass?” The Old Man turned to Otto. “Have him show you where he was supposed to take that food.” He indicated the Third. “One-Eye will be there. Hurt him if you have to but don’t break him. I want him helping Croaker. Goblin. You’re Croaker’s boy until Buzz and Two Dead are healthy enough to dance at his wedding.”
* * *
Otto and crew found One-Eye snoozing in a derelict shack on the edge of town. They got his head in a sack and his hands tied before he could bark. Nobody came out of it needing splints or stitches.
The Old Man was in a foul temper. He stood back, iron gaze fixed while One-Eye received the Word. The little black man wasted no time getting his shit together. “Focus on Shiiraki. We can’t do anything more for Chodroze except maybe add a slider spell to fight infection.”
“Goblin did that. Laid on a sleeper, too. Corey can handle him. You fed Buzz poke juice?”
“After the
firenz
he got in some wine he thought would help with the shits. You can’t taste
firenz
in sweet wine. It just gives you a stronger buzz. Blackberry is the best.”
And was the same color as poke juice. “The juice disguised the real poison?”
“Yep. He got drunk. Did a major stupid. He was already messed up with the shits.” Not exactly confessing. He ransacked my medicine stocks while he talked. “Here it is.” He held up a phial of dirty brown powder. “This will neutralize the
firenz.
The poke will take care of itself, you put enough liquid through.”
I did not know what
firenz
was. A poison, clearly. As Goblin did note, One-Eye knew a lot that nobody should. Came of being older than dirt, mostly.
The Old Man reminded One-Eye, “They need to pull through. The Tower is watching. The Tower wants it to happen.”
Wind chimes sang on cue, louder than ever. Everyone heard, not just the poor crazy Annalist. A lightning-bug flash in a corner turned into an expanding O-ring of sparkle. It reached a foot and a half in diameter. A dark-haired, to-die-for beautiful brunette teen looked out at us. She smiled a smile that lighted up the universe. She winked at me and pursed her lips in an air kiss that I would hear about forever. Then she faded without saying a word, leaving a tinkle, a hint of lilac, an impression that someone had watched from behind her, and a message clearly delivered to her favorite band of bad boys.
“Oh, my!” One-Eye blurted because the Lady had considered him directly and deliberately before flirting with me.
He had to improve his sense of discipline. And he would. For a while. But he was, is, and always will be One-Eye. He cannot be anything else.
He bustled around Buzz with Goblin and the Third helping. I decided to step outside. I had been too long safe from clean air.
It was daytime out there, still not thirty hours since Zhorab whispered “Flies.” Snow no longer fell, but the wind remained busy. It was warmer. The ground had begun to turn to mud. The world felt changed. Definitely not new but forever changed.
The captain joined me. “I don’t know what’s happened, but we have stumbled into a fresh new future.”
“It’s that line. When is the battlefield not a battlefield? We’ll win one big time without lifting a blade if those two survive.”
“When.”
“Yes, sir. When.”
“A handy friend, Two Dead. He’s almost Taken caliber but less subject to outside control. Buzzard Neck could be a useful badass, too.”
“We should seduce them.”
“We keep them alive, they’re ours.
She
is counting on us, Croaker. Stuff like this is going to keep happening. When is the enemy not an enemy? When it’s your friend patting your back with one hand while sticking a dagger in with the other.”
“I’d best get back in there and supervise.” It would not be impossible for One-Eye to precipitate a lethal mishap if there was something he thought needed hiding.
“Yes. No doubt One-Eye already thinks he sees some clever way to turn himself a profit.” The Old Man clasped my left shoulder, touching me directly for only the third or fourth time in all the years we have known one another. “You played your part well. Go win us a brace of new magicians.”
Yes. So. No direct confession, but…He had been part of a scheme with roots in the Tower. Somehow. Maybe
he
was the one romancing the crone.
“I’m on it, boss.”
First Blood
Elizabeth Moon
Luden Fall, great-nephew of the Duke of Fall, had not won the spurs he strapped to his boots the morning he left home for the first time. War had come to Fallo, so Luden, three years too young for knighthood, had been given the honor of accompanying a cohort of Sofi Ganarrion’s company to represent the family.
The cohort’s captain, Madrelar, a lean, angular man with a weathered, sun-browned face, eyed him up and down and then shrugged. “We march in a ladyglass,” Madrelar said. “There’s your horse. Get your gear tied on and be at my side when we mount up.”
The mounted troop moved quickly, riding longer and faster than Luden had before, into territory he had never seen, ever closer to the Dwarfmounts that divided the Eight Kingdoms of the North from Aarenis. His duties were minimal. When he first attempted to help the way he’d been taught at home, picking up and putting in place everything the captain put down, carrying dishes to and from a serving table, Madrelar told him to quit fussing about. Luden obeyed, as squires were supposed to do.
He had hoped to learn much from a mercenary captain, a man who had fought against Siniava and might have seen the Duke of Immer when he was still Alured the Black and an ally, but Madrelar said little to him beyond simple orders and discouraged questions by not answering them. Pastak, the cohort sergeant, said less. The troopers themselves ignored him, though he heard mutters and chuckles he assumed were at his expense.
Finally one evening, when the sentries were out walking the bounds, the captain called Luden into his tent. “You should know where we are and why,” Madrelar said. He had maps spread on a folding table. “We guard the North Trade Road, where the road from Rotengre meets it, so Immer cannot outflank the duke’s force. It’s unlikely he’ll try, but just in case. Do you understand?”
Luden looked at the map, at the captain’s finger pointing to a crossroads. Back there was Fallo, where he had lived all his life until now. “Yes,” he said. “I understand outflanking, and I can see…” He traced the line with his finger. “They could come this way, along the north road. But could they not also follow the route we took here, only bypassing us to the south?”
“They are unlikely to know the way,” Madrelar said.
“What force might they bring?” Luden asked.
Madrelar shrugged. “Anything from nothing to five hundred. If they are too large, we retreat, sending word back for reinforcements. If they are small enough, we destroy them. In the middle…” He tipped his hand back and forth. “We fight and see who wins.” He gave Luden a sharp glance out of frosty blue eyes. “Are you scared, boy?”
“Not really.” Luden’s skin prickled, but he knew it for excitement, not fear.
Madrelar grinned. “That will change.”
The next day they stayed in camp. Madrelar told him to take all three of the captain’s mounts to be checked for loose shoes. Luden waited his turn for the farrier, listening to the men talk, hoping to hear stories of Siniava’s War. Instead, the men talked of drinking, dicing, money, women, and when they would be back in “a real city.”
“Sorellin?” Luden asked, having seen that it was nearest on the map.
They all stopped and looked at him, then at one another. Finally one of them said, “No, young lord. Valdaire. Have you heard of it?”
“Of course—it’s in the west, near the caravan pass to the north.”
“It’s
our
city,” the man said. “Any other place we go, we’re on hire. But in Valdaire, we’re free.”
“The girls in Valdaire…” another man said, making shapes with his hands. “They love us, for we bring money.”
Luden felt his ears getting hot. His own interest in girls was new, and his father’s lectures on deportment both clear and stringent.
“Don’t embarrass the lad,” the first trooper said. “He’ll find out in time.” His glance quieted the others. “You ride well, young lord. It is an honor to have a member of your family along.”
“Thank you,” Luden said. He knew the other men were amused, but this one seemed polite. “My name is Luden. This is the first time I have been so far.”
Silence for a moment, then the man said, “I am Esker.” He gestured. “These are Trongar, Vesk, and Hrondar. We all came south from Kostandan with Ganarrion.”
Luden fizzed with questions he wanted to ask—was the north really all forest? Was it true that elves walked there? Esker tipped his head toward the fire. “Janits waits you and the captain’s horses. Best go, or someone will take your place in line.”
“Thank you,” Luden said, and led the horses forward.
* * *
When he returned the horses to the hitch-line strung between trees, it was still broad daylight. He glanced in the captain’s tent—orderly and empty. The men were busy with camp chores, with horse care, cleaning tack, mending anything that needed it. Luden’s own small possessions were new enough to need nothing.
Luden spoke to the nearest sentry. “Would it be all right if I went for a walk?”
The man’s brows rose. “You think that’s a good idea? You do realize there might be an enemy army not a day’s march away?”
“I thought…nothing’s happening…I could just look at things.”
The sentry heaved a dramatic sigh. “All right. Don’t go far, don’t get hurt, if you see strangers, come back and tell me. All right? Back in one sun-hand, no more.”
“Thank you,” Luden said. He looked around for a moment, thinking which way to go. Little red dots on a bush a stone’s throw away caught his eye.
The dots were indeed berries, some ripened to purple, but most still red and sour. Luden ate some of the ripe ones, and brought a neck-cloth full back to the camp. At home, the cooks were always happy to get berries, however few. Here, too, the camp cook nodded when Luden offered them. “Can you get more?”
“I think so,” Luden said.
“Take this bowl. Be back in…” he glanced up at the sun, “a sun-hand, and I’ll be able to use these for dinner.”
Luden showed the sentry the bowl. “Cook wants more of those berries.”
“Good,” the sentry said.
Near the first bush were others; Luden filled the bowl and took it back to the cook. After that—still no sign of the captain—Luden wandered about the camp until he found Esker, the man who had been friendly before, replacing a strap on a saddle.
“If you’ve nothing to do, you can punch some holes in this strap,” Esker said.
Luden sat down at once. Esker handed him another strap and the punching tools, and told him how to space the holes. Luden soon made a row of neat holes. “Good job, lad—Luden, wasn’t it? Have you checked all your own tack?”
“It’s almost new,” Luden said. “I didn’t see anything wrong.”
“Bring it here. We’ll give you a lesson in field maintenance of cavalry tack.”
Luden brought his saddle, bridle, and rigging over to Esker where he sat amid a group of busy troopers. Luden had cleaned his tack, but—as Esker pointed out—he hadn’t gone over every finger-width of every strap.
“You might think this doesn’t matter as much,” Hrondar said. Esker’s friends had now joined in the instruction. Hrondar pointed to the strap that held a water bottle on his own saddle. “If that gives way and you have no water on a long march, you’ll be less alert. Everything we carry is needed. Every strap should be checked daily to see it’s not cracked, drying out, stretching too much.”
Other men shared their ideas for keeping tack in perfect condition—including arguments about the best oils and waxes for different weather. Luden drank it in, fascinated by details his father’s riding master had never mentioned.
Captain Madrelar found him there, two sun-hands later. “So this is where you are! I’ve been searching the camp,
squire
.” The emphasis he put on “squire” would have sliced wood. “I need you in my quarters.”
Luden scrambled to his feet, threw the rigging over his shoulder, put his arm through the bridle, and hitched his saddle onto his hip. The captain had turned away; Esker got up and tucked the trailing reins into the rigging on his shoulder. Luden nodded his thanks and followed the captain back to his tent.
There he endured a blistering scold for his venture out to pick berries and his interfering with the troopers at their tasks. Finally, the captain ran down and left the tent, with a last order to “Put that mess away, eat your dinner without saying a word, and be ready to ride in the morning.”
Luden put his tack on the rack next to the captain’s, shivering with reaction. He’d been scolded plenty of times, but always he’d understood what he’d done wrong. What was so bad about gathering food for others and learning more that soldiers needed to know? He hadn’t been gossiping or gambling.
He looked around the tent for something useful to do. A scattering of maps, message tubes, and papers covered the table. He heard the clang of the dinner gong; he could clear the table before the cook’s assistant brought the captain’s meal. He’d done that before; the captain never minded.
Luden picked up the first papers then stopped, staring at a green and black seal, one he had seen before. Had the captain found it somewhere? It was wrong to read someone else’s papers, but this was Immer’s seal. The
enemy’s
seal. The hairs rose on his scalp as he read. Captain Madrelar—the name leapt out at him—was to put his troop at the service of the Duke of Immer, by leading them into an ambush, four hundred of Immer’s men, within a half-day’s ride of the crossroads Madrelar had shown him. For this Madrelar would receive the promised reward and a command. If he had been able to talk Fallo into sending one of his nephews or grandsons along, then Madrelar should drug or bind the sprout and send him to Cortes Immer.
Luden dropped the paper as if it were on fire and started shaking. It was the most horrible thing he could imagine. The captain a traitor? Why? And what was
he
supposed to do? He was only a squire, and how many of these men outside, these hardened mercenaries, were also traitors?
He had not understood fear before. He had thought, those times he climbed high in a tree, or jumped from a wall, that the tightness in his belly was fear, easily overcome for the thrill with it. This was different—fear that hollowed out his mind and body as a spoon scoops out the center of a melon. His bones had gone to water. All he’d heard of Immer—the tortures, the magery, the way Andressat’s son had been flayed alive—came to mind. As soon as the captain came back and saw that he’d moved things on the desk, he might be overpowered, bound, doomed.
He had to get away before then…somehow. Even as he thought that, and how impossible it would be, his hands went on working, shuffling several other messages on top of Immer’s, squaring the sheets to a neat stack. He rolled the maps as he usually did, noting even in his haste the marks the captain had made on one of them. They were not two days’ ride from the crossroads, but one: the captain had lied to him. He put the maps in the map-stand as always. What now? He glanced out the tent door. No immediate escape: the cook’s assistant was almost at the tent with a basket of food, and the captain had already started the same way, talking to his sergeant.
Luden took the dinner basket from the cook and had the captain’s supper laid out on the table by the time the captain arrived. When the captain came in, he stood by the table, hoping the captain could not detect his thundering heart. The captain stopped short.
“Who did this?”
“Sir, I laid out your dinner as usual.”
“You touched my papers? When?”
“To have room for the dinner.” Luden gestured at the stack of papers at the end of the table. “It took only a moment, to stack them and put the maps away. Just as usual.”
“Hmph.” The captain sat and pointed to his cup. “Wine. And water.”
Luden poured, his hand shaking. The captain gave him a sharp look.
“What’s this? Still shivering from a scold? I hope you don’t fall off your mount with fright if we do meet the enemy.” The captain stabbed a slab of meat, cut it, and put it in his mouth.
Madrelar said nothing more in the course of the meal, then ordered Luden to take the dishes back to the cook, and eat his own dinner there. “I will be working late tonight,” he said. “It’s dry; sleep outside, and don’t be sitting up late with the men. They need their rest. We ride early.”
Luden could not eat much, not even the berry-speckled dessert. What was the captain up to, besides betrayal? Were the other men, or some of them, also part of it? Was the captain really prepared to sacrifice his own troops? And why? Luden’s background gave him no hint. He tried to think what he might do.
Could he run away? He might escape the sentries set around camp on foot, but the horse lines had a separate guard. He could not sneak away on horseback. And even if he did escape afoot, he might be captured before he reached home—they had ridden hard to get here, and going back would take him longer. Especially since he had no way to carry supplies.
What then could he do? He looked around for Esker, but didn’t see him, and dared not wander around the camp, in case the captain looked for him. Finally he went back to the captain’s tent. A light inside cast shadows on the wall…two people at least were in it.
Outside, near the entrance, he found a folded blanket and a water bottle on top of it. The captain clearly meant for him to stay outside. He picked them up, went around the side of the tent, rolled himself in the blanket, and—sure he could not sleep—dozed off.
He woke from a dream so vivid he thought it was real, and heard his voice saying “Yes, my lord!” He lay a moment, wide awake, chilled by the night air. The dream lay bright as a picture in his mind: his great-uncle, the Duke of Fall, speaking to all the children as he did every Midwinter Feast.
It is not for wealth alone, or tradition, that the Dukes of Fall have ruled here for ages past, since first we came from the South. But because we keep faith with our people. Never forget what you owe to those who work our fields, who take up arms to defend us. They deserve the best we have to give them.
And then the phrase that had wakened him:
Luden, look to your honor.
He was a child of Fallo; he was the only one of that House here, and these men around him—some of them at least, and maybe all but the captain—were being led to slaughter. He still had honor, and the duty that came with honor.
