Arm Of Galemar (Book 2) Read online

  Adrian studied his prisoners. All but one man, the magistrate, wore sashes around their waists and sleeveless overshirts above their tunics. Both women wore white cotton breeches that were mostly hidden by their odd dresses. They were long-sleeved, falling to the ankle, slit up the sides to the hip. Below the thigh, they were basically cloth flaps in front and back.

  Behind Adrian the Taur finished its mutton and threw the bone, which ricocheted off a column before bouncing into the water. It must have been restless because it let out a low roar, soft for a Taur but loud in this enclosed space. The controller shook its chain until it settled down. New ripping sounds came when it set into a fresh haunch.

  The prisoners tried to withdraw further but were stopped when the guards poked their backs with spear butts.

  Adrian addressed them. “If you answer my questions, no harm will befall you.”

  They looked blank until the captain who spoke Traders translated. He spoke slowly, enunciating each syllable to make his words as clear as he could. One of the men replied.

  “I think he said they don’t know anything we would be interested in.”

  “Tell them that is for me to decide, not them.” After the guard translated, Adrian considered his first question. He had learned much about interrogation over the years. These people were innocents, concerned with their private lives and mostly uninvolved in their kingdom’s larger affairs. They would be willing to tell him everything they knew if he would spare them in return, except the problem was they were convinced they knew nothing important. Important information, as often as not, ended up being the trivial details no one placed value upon, and thus never mentioned without a direct question. So focused would they be on dredging up an impressive fact to satisfy him, these people would charge past the irrelevant facts that were what Adrian actually needed.

  At the moment, his biggest problem was that he had no clear idea exactly what he wanted. The investigation King Lambert charged him with remained too general. Signs relating to the ominous shadow threatening Arronath’s peace, if there were any signs, might never have been noticed by these commoners.

  One lesson he had learned was that when investigating a possible evil, no matter its nature, rumors and fears among the locals were usually the best place to start.

  “Ask them about any rumors circulating over the past few years. I don’t care about who is buying what cow, or how much the price of a dozen eggs has gone up. Simply ask about general news that has persisted.”

  A nod from his translator, then slow Traders Tongue passed between them all for several minutes. Adrian watched his prisoners closely. It was satisfying when tiny signs of relaxation began appearing. The easy question combined with their jailers’ soft tone sparked in them the hope that they might survive the day. Harsh behaviors had been strictly forbidden by Adrian for this session. That was why their guards were using the butt of their spears instead of the points. He wanted them calm and talking.

  But he also wanted them on the edge. In the face of the Taur and the Interrogator with his tools of persuasion, they should be eager to answer questions from friendlier captors.

  “They say there was a war between two high-lords about two years ago. Nearly the whole kingdom was caught up in it.”

  “Anything unusual about it?”

  “Both sides mustered a large army and cut each other up some, but they dispersed when winter came.”

  Adrian nodded. It was the common man’s perspective. Obviously there must be more to the story. He stored the information away. “What else?”

  “Rumors say another war happened in the neighboring kingdom, between them and the next kingdom beyond. Both kingdoms put their entire armies to field. Sorry, but I can’t make out the names of the places. They did say it was unusual because their neighbor hadn’t been in a serious war in anybody’s living memory.”

  Adrian frowned. That might be an exaggeration, yet he cared little for the pattern. Two kingdom-wide wars involving three kingdoms on the Merinor continent…at nearly the same time? Perhaps King Lambert had surmised correctly. Perhaps the evil predicted by the seers was rooted in this land, growing and inciting turmoil as it did so. Greedy men plotting against the rest of the world if they were lucky. If not, then what were the possibilities of something far darker?

  “What else? Anything relevant?”

  “Bandits were causing trouble along the roads and a religious zealot wandered through prophesizing the end of the world, but nothing else of relevance.”

  “A seer?”

  “I think so. The word they used was different. I can’t narrow it down beyond that.”

  Adrian considered. “Where is this man?”

  The guard spent several moments in Traders before addressing his general again. “They say they don’t know. He was a wanderer passing through and left shortly before we landed.”

  “Get a full description and pass it out to all patrol units. I’d like to see this seer who is so free with his visions. Move on to the local politics. Were there any changes before we arrived?”

  After a full hour of questioning, Adrian decided the captives could tell him little else. One last casual inquiry might reveal information relevant to his investigation. Then other matters required his attention. When he opened his mouth, the Taur abruptly moved, the scraping of its clawed toes accompanying the clinking from its chain. Its controller allowed it to approach the pool for water.

  Adrian paused to allow these Tullainians time to observe the monstrous body. Its hands, easily twice the size of a massive blacksmith’s, gripped the pool’s edge while it lowered the elongated snout to the water. Horn tips dipped under the surface and its lips drew back, revealing wide gums nurturing numerous sharp teeth. The snout delved under the surface as the Taur drew in great gulps, slobbering loudly as it swallowed.

  After it drank its fill, it reared back, bellowing anew. A full cry this time. Even Adrian, as jaded as he was to them, stepped away when the bull-like head tipped back and the roar punched at his heart, making it skip a beat. Its controller, miniscule beside the behemoth, reasserted herself. She stared at it until the beast retreated to its corner. The yard seemed to vibrate under the force of its feet pounding against the paving stones. Once it settled, it retrieved one of its previous bones and chewed on it, hoping for meat it might have missed.

  Adrian returned his attention to the Tullainians. They had each curled into tight balls, huddled as far away from the Taur as they could manage in their bonds. It was well that his business with them had nearly ended.

  “Ask them what they fear.”

  “Sir?”

  “I want to know what they fear most, living here as they do. What do they dread in this city? A call from the tax collector? A gang of thieves? What do they travel out of their way to avoid? Tell them they may go if they answer truthfully, and to my satisfaction.”

  The guard did not ask why. Such was above his station. Traders Tongue commenced among the group.

  Adrian hoped this final query might reveal the detail he needed. Working in the highest ranks of his government, he understood the truth about secrets in regards to the aristocracy.

  The harder one tried to keep a secret, the more likely it would leak out. Over the years it had amazed him how many commoners were privy to information relating to investigations that had nothing to do with them.

  Especially if the secret was of a dark nature. Guardsmen discovered a highborn’s smuggling scheme only when reports of missing persons kept being filed by residents living near the storehouse. The sadistic tendencies of a court baron’s son were well known in the local brothels long before the disappearance of another baron’s daughter. Whenever nobles wanted to hide their dirty dealings, their first priority was to hide it from their peers. Coins shut a commoner’s mouth, or perhaps a knife in the dark if the stakes were high. If this threat foreseen by the seers stemmed from the Tullainian aristocracy, then the locals might have seen the signs, even if they did not recognize th
em for what they were.

  Surely even the minor signs related to an evil capable of threatening the whole of Arronath would have put fear into these common hearts.

  When the guard finished translating Adrian’s question, the general watched six pairs of eyes turn as one to the Taur behind him. “Besides us! Well?”

  The guardsman answered after receiving theirs. “The merchant says his worst fears were the closing of the trade routes due to the high-lords’ war.”

  Adrian gazed coldly at the man, who avoided meeting his eye. He felt like sighing, but this was hardly unanticipated. No one, despite the promise of release, ever wants to admit their darkest fears to a stranger.

  “Continue.”

  “One of the women says she will never go near the cesspit. It’s a great hole in the ground outside the city where refuse is dumped. It’s deep and no one can see the bottom, but rumors say strange things live down there.”

  The general raised an eyebrow. This was more promising. He nodded once.

  “The other woman fears a man named Creem. He’s beaten two wives to death and she says he has an eye on her. Both servants say they fear the fall of their lord’s house.”

  Adrian almost snorted; he would have except it would alienate his own aides. It was a proper response for a servant, though he wondered if they truly felt so or if they only offered it because they knew it was the proper response. “What about the magistrate?”

  “He says his greatest fear is a disease he calls ‘whore’s blossoms’. Those are the literal words in Traders.”

  “A sterling example of a proper magistrate.”

  Though he said it under his breath, the guardsman overheard. “Sir?”

  “Never mind.” Adrian considered the six sitting on the floor. “Very well. Take everyone but the magistrate out to the probationers. I’d like to talk to the magistrate later. Lock him down.”

  Adrian collected his aides while the five semi-free Tullainians were gathered to join their fellows outside the estate walls. There, they would be read the new laws they must abide by while under Arronathian rule, including the punishments resulting from violations. They would be assigned a duty or allowed to return to their normal lives as best they could.

  When he left the courtyard, Adrian spoke to nobody in particular. “Send men to investigate the cesspit outside the city. Collect soldiers on punishment details and reassign them to the duty. They can be the first to investigate the depths.”

  The general issued several other orders on the way to his chambers, intending to review the latest field reports over lunch. He was waylaid a hallway from his goal.

  “General, sir!”

  A young guardsman dashed toward him. Adrian frowned slightly. It looks bad to the under-officers when you run. “Yes?”

  “Colonel Mendell has just come in with a captured foreign lord!” The young man seemed overly impressed; whether with the feat or with Mendell, Adrian could not say. His frown deepened before he regained control over his expression.

  Colonel Mendell, and Colonel Harbon. The two men he had most wanted to leave behind in Arronath. The two men he had been required to shuffle into this campaign by his king, the royal orders relayed through Councilor Xenos.

  There might be no denying their combat abilities…yet Adrian disliked them. Men should earn their rank. Unfortunately, he saw no way to shunt the two into makeshift assignments, not unless he wanted to anger Xenos, the mysterious new power in the court. Any scorn he showed these two would eventually find its way to the councilor’s ear. Adrian would rather put up with the men, as long as they didn’t fail in their duties, than tangle with his king’s counselor. For the present.

  “Lead on. Let’s see what the colonel has brought in.”

  The grinning young man did exactly that with an air of suppressed hyperactivity. He almost burst with the honor of escorting his commanding general, barely restraining the urge to break into another run.

  They arrived at a room off the servants’ wing, protected by a heavy oak door with giant iron hinges. Two guards recognized their general and opened the door without waiting for the order. Twin surprises awaited him within.

  The first, sitting in a chair at ease, was Colonel Mendell in person, without an apparent care in the world. Under the far wall’s window stood the second surprise. This imprisoned lord had not been bound in any manner. Standing tall, fiercely proud, he met Adrian’s gaze without flinching.

  Like the two women earlier, the lord had dressed in loose white breaches that flowed around his legs, and also a long-sleeved white shirt, both in silk rather than cotton. Over these was a similar type of garment worn by the women, though without sleeves and with the hanging flaps trimmed in gold. Perhaps it might not be a dress after all. It looked strange, with the cloth flaps hanging to the man’s ankles, elaborately embroidered. A silk sash wound around his waist, concealing the slit tops.

  What set this lord apart further from the women were oversized shoulder guards hidden by the white cloth of a draping cape. They extended in giant, foot-long plates curved like fingernails, enwrapped in the cape, the exact nature of their metal type hidden. The cape wrapped scarf-like around his neck and dangled from the shoulder guards to his boots.

  Mendell waited several moments before standing, as if only then noticing the new visitor, and presented his prize. “General,” he said, instead of ‘sir’, a minor habit that always felt to Adrian as though the man were mocking him. “May I present the one time owner of this fine abode. The Tullainian High-Lord, Markis-gune.”

  * * * * *

  Marik Railson hesitantly stood in a gloomy hallway. He had come to this hallway because, unless he wanted to climb three stories of rough wall to scramble through a tiny window, it was the only way to gain entry into the room beyond. Only the closed door barred his entrance. A door that had never yet been locked in his entire history with this particular doorway.

  It was knowing what the man on this door’s opposite side would likely say that dampened his enthusiasm to take the last steps. Marik had successfully avoided Tollaf during the long trip back to Kingshome from the Galemaran/Nolier border. Skiving off the old fart must have served to make him more irascible than usual.

  He would as soon avoid talking to him today as well. Unfortunately, he had made a promise to Torrance, the commander of the Crimson Kings Mercenary Band. In accordance with that, Marik had learned the basics in magecraft the winter previous. The time had come for the next step, to expand on that training, much as he hated the mage talent lurking within him.

  So given that the confrontation was inevitable, Marik finally opened the door, entering Chief Mage Tollaf’s primary workroom. The old man was sorting through towering paper stacks at a table and glanced up at the intrusion.

  “I was wondering if you would ever show your hide,” he spat, his tone waspish as ever. “Hasn’t anyone taught you how to knock?”

  “What’s the point when you can see me through the door?”

  “It’s a basic gesture of courtesy. I’ve given up hoping for respect, seeing as it’s so antithetical to your nature.” He paused, and Marik sensed the old dried-up stick preparing to launch a speech he must have been practicing during the entire trip back from the warfront. “In fact, I’ve about given up all hope for you, boy! The one time you show initiative with your talent, and you use it for sword fighting!”

  “What’s that have to do with anything?”

  “A mage doesn’t fight with swords, gods damn it! You need to train and learn how to use your mage talent!”

  “Why?” Marik asked with a trace of smugness. “My way was effective. Didn’t you tell me that surprise is a valuable asset on the battlefield?”

  Tollaf almost leapt off his stool at having his own words thrown back at him. “You can’t do that!”

  “I also remember a different conversation where we agreed most of the discoveries made in magic were the result of not knowing it couldn’t be done.” He smirked, enjoying havi
ng the stronger arguments on his side for a change.

  “That’s an entirely separate matter! You’re limiting your effectiveness as a mage by tying yourself to that blasted sword! A good mage is worth an entire unit of fighters, even when he’s exhausted, ill and falling-down drunk, and you’re throwing that away! How in the hells did you do that, anyway?”

  Marik’s smirk widened. “Well, I suppose I don’t want to be giving my secrets away, do I? Then everyone would be able to do it.”

  “Don’t by sly with me, boy. I’ve been over every report from witnesses, and it’s impossible for any man to physically do what you did. You were using your talent somehow! I want to know what you did! You couldn’t knock a tankard off the table before the war!”

  “Then it should be easy for you to work out how I did it, isn’t that right? You spend most of your time picking things apart to learn how they work. You know what I was capable of, so figure it out. And let’s not forget that you’re supposed to be the instructor, not me. It’s time for my scrying workings.” Marik sat down hard on a smaller stool to make the point.

  “What makes you think you’re anywhere close to being ready for those? You still only know the most basic shields, never mind your pathetic attempt at an attack. Your repertoire of workings couldn’t fill a thimble! Your mastered skills are still short of a basic apprentice’s compliment.”

  “I think it’s clear I’ll never be good at fighting other magic users, so why waste the time trying to make me into a battle mage? Besides, Torrance is expecting me to become a scryer, so I don’t see where you have a choice in the matter.”

  “As soon as you become serious about magecraft, I’ll teach you about scrying! Lor’Velath, you hardly possess any knowledge at all about the craft!”

  “I came today to start on the scrying workings you’ve been promising me, since you aren’t good enough at them to find my father. If you want to waste time, then I’ll leave and spend the afternoon in the training areas. Feel free to explain to Torrance why I’m so far behind.”