“Scroll cases?” Vlandar said. “Have you looked at them yet?”
“I did not take the time in there, but if they are messages
in Giantish, it would have done me little good. I can speak some Giantish, but I
read none of it. I believe Nemis does, though.”
“He said so, back when he and I first spoke.” Vlandar thought
a moment. “Let’s look at them now, you and I. If we need Nemis to translate for
us, that can wait until after you’ve slept a while.”
Lhors stood and gazed over Vlandar’s shoulder. The two men
either didn’t care or didn’t notice that he was so blatantly eavesdropping.
The scrolls were written in well-formed, large letters, but
neither man could understand a word of what was written there, not even the
glyphs at the bottom that must be the mark of the sender. “Or Nosnra’s glyph, of
course,” Malowan said gloomily.
“They could be anything,” Vlandar agreed as he furled the
last scroll and slid it into its tube. “Keep them, Mal. We’ll get Nemis’ help
after you both wake up. Meantime, I’ll finish out the individual maps as best I
can. Likely, I’ll take your advice and we’ll enter the fort an hour earlier
tomorrow. I want to avoid a melee, especially if there’s a chance to get back
into that chamber and learn something about why Nosnra and his underlings are
attacking Keoland.”
“We won’t learn that by launching an open attack,” the
paladin agreed. “I trust if you plan on stealth that you have put the fear of
the gods into young Plowys?”
“As best I could, Mal. Still, I may need your aid in
restraining our young hero.”
“There is,” the paladin said severely, “not enough sleep in
all the world to prepare me for
that.”
He tugged his cloak around himself
snugly and worked off his boots, settling down where he was.
* * *
Malowan woke some hours later to find Agya awake and
replaiting one of the straps on his pack.
“They’re at it.” She grumbled and indicated the group around
Vlandar with a minute jerk of her head. “Your warrior friend’s picked ’is teams,
and no one wants to be with anyone else.” She drew a dagger and cut a slit on
the side of the pack, threaded the braided strap through, and began working the
ends in so it would hold. “Thought it were bad enough in th’ city when our
master chose which ’prentice thieves to send out with which journey-lads. No one
ever wanted who they got, journey
or
’prentice.”
Agya finished her task neatly and shoved the bag his way.
“You left it out in th’ open where anyone could’ve taken those things we found,”
she said severely. “I don’t trust half ’em, specially that boy.”
“Boy?” the paladin asked his ward in the sudden quiet. “I
know Lhors is ill-trained—”
“Nah, th’other: Lord Pretty Prince of the Heavens.” Agya
scowled at Plowys, who was pacing by himself and occasionally spinning on one
heel to half-draw a blade. “Th’ rangers’ve asked him to give over before he cuts
one of us, playing with his shiny toys in here. Ask me, let ’im play—if luck be
with us, he’ll trip and skewer ’imself.”
“Harsh,” Malowan said mildly.
His ward gave him a hard-eyed look. “Nah. Harsh is what I’ll
do to ’im if ’e does something to get
you
hurt.” She shoved the bag aside
and leveled a finger at his face. “I know you. You’ll give someone like that
tries and tries again and get yourself hurt trying to keep ’im safe.”
“Just as I did recently with a young market thief, a skinny
girl masquerading as a boy and nearly old enough to be caught in that deception
by the city guard—or her fellow thieves?”
Agya blushed and turned her back on him.
“We’re all flawed, Agya.”
“You know how th’ thieves guild uses girls,” she muttered,
“or what happens to girl thieves tossed in th’ cells. But even if I weren’t
ready to leave off thieving, I’d’ve done nothin’ to get you hurt.” Her chin came
up. “And I never stole but enough to keep m’self fed.”
Malowan laid a hand on her shoulder. “I know, and now you
shame me for reminding you. But
you
have changed. Perhaps Plowys can,
especially this far from his mother.”
“P’raps,” the girl replied dubiously.
Malowan gripped her arm briefly then got to his feet to find
out what plans had been set for the coming night.
Khlened snarled something. Vlandar leaped to his feet, but
before he could utter a word, Maera cut him off. “Lower your voice, fool of a
barbarian! The fake wall our mage put up to block the entry is to trick eyes not
ears! They could have heard you down along the river, just now!”
Khlened grumbled under his breath, but Vlandar cleared his
throat and chopped a hand for silence.
Vlandar was visibly holding onto a formidable temper at the
moment. When Plowys and Khlened both began talking at the same time, the warrior
snarled a curse that silenced both and left Rowan blinking in surprise.
“I was put in charge of this sortie,” Vlandar said evenly,
“and all of you knew that from the first—including you.” He scowled at Plowys
until the young man’s mouth twitched. “Now. I will often ask for opinions,
particularly from those of you who have fought giants or can speak or read
Giantish, or who have skills other and better than mine. I may even follow such
advice if it seems sensible, but I am captain here. The responsibility for all
of us—and to the king and Lord Mebree—is
mine.
I made my choices for
tonight for my own reasons, and I am not called on to explain them. Do what you
must to get ready, because we move out two hours before first light.” And with
that, he turned away, beckoned for Malowan to follow him, and settled in the
narrow corner where he’d spread his blankets.
“It was a poor choice putting me in charge of
this
bunch,” he growled.
Malowan smiled. “You manage well enough. How did you divide
us up?”
Vlandar sighed heavily. “Khlened and the rangers are going to
learn what they can about the door where the wolves and their keeper went. The
northerner is upset to be put with females, and they in turn are offended by
him. I put Nemis with you and Agya. You need to learn where that downstairs
goes, and he needs to either copy that map or take it.”
“You plan on all of us getting inside unnoted by the
residents?” Malowan asked.
Vlandar shrugged. “I do not believe the Steading is
ultimately responsible for the attacks. Nosnra is a brutish oaf, cunning but not
a planner. If he does report to someone else, I want to learn who and if there
is a way to find that someone. We may decide to do as much damage to the
Steading as we can before going after Nosnra’s superiors then. Likely not,
though. If Nosnra learns what we’re up to, he’ll warn his superior, if he
is
taking orders. Better if we can avoid walking into a trap, don’t you think?”
“Of course.”
“I will take Lhors and Plowys to see what else we can learn
from the feasting hall, then join you in the council room. I don’t want any of
us wandering off. Our goal should be to get in and get back out with that map
and anything else useful.” Vlandar sighed again. Now he sounded merely tired. “I
need your help, Mal. We can’t go into that fort in this mood.”
“I agree,” Malowan said. “We act as a team or die as
individuals. I’ll talk to Khlened and the rangers. Young Plowys—he won’t listen
to me. You’ll have to do your best with him.”
* * *
But as it turned out, there was no need for anyone to search
for information on the Steading’s arrangement. When Nemis went through the
scrolls Malowan had brought back, he found a detailed map of the main floor.
“I see the steps you found, Mal,” the mage said and pointed
them out, “and another set here, just off the kitchens. But there are no plans
for the lower level.”
“This is still useful,” Vlandar said. “It tells us there
is
a lower level—though I was certain of that anyway. Besides, there appears
to be no reason for us to go anywhere but that council chamber.”
Khlened stirred. “Then this will be no sneak raid?”
“Yes,” Vlandar said flatly. “The council room is here”—he
pointed out the small chamber not far from the north wall—“so if there are
guards in the corridors, we avoid them. If we cannot, of course, then we kill
them as quickly and quietly as we can.”
He glanced at Nemis, who was gazing at the scroll. The mage’s
expression turned suddenly grim, but Vlandar didn’t think anyone else had seen
this. “Everyone eat something and make certain your gear is ready. We leave
shortly.”
He waited until everyone but Nemis and Malowan had moved off,
then touched the mage’s arm to get his attention. “What is it? What does it
say?”
Nemis tapped the scroll. “It is a set of orders on where and
when to raid certain villages in southern Keoland—the dark of the next moon. I
cannot tell where it was written.”
Malowan spread the scroll out. “But it is signed, isn’t it?
That certainly looks like a signature to me.”
“It is signed,” the mage replied grimly, “by one ‘Eclavdra’.”
“Eclavdra?” Vlandar asked. “Is that a place or a person? Can
you tell?”
“I can tell.” Nemis swallowed. He looked tense. “I had hoped
I would not need to tell anyone this, but I see no way past it. Eclavdra is a
drow, a dark elf.”
Malowan shook his head. “I thought there were no drow left
anywhere in the Flanaess!”
“Not
in,
but
under
,” Nemis said. “They left the
surface ages ago. They live in deep caverns and when they do attack, it is in
secret, and they leave no survivors.”
“Well,” Vlandar said dubiously, “then how do
you
know
about them?”
“Because the man who was my master in my apprentice days
sought out the drow and pledged himself to their service in exchange for
whatever magic they could teach him. They do have some like my old master who
serve as their ears and eyes above-ground. Daylight is painful to them.
Furthermore, they are so unlike any other race that they would be known for what
they are. They are small and delicate to look upon, very black-skinned, with
silvery hair. They are dire fighters and dread sorcerers. My master was bound to
serve Eclavdra.” Nemis licked his lips. “When he died, I found a way to escape
the drow.”
“You said nothing of this back in Cryllor,” Vlandar said.
“Why, I wonder?”
Nemis gave him a bitter smile. “Because I knew you would look
at me the way you are now. ‘He dwelt with drow. Perhaps he served them. Perhaps
he is their spy.’ I could think of nothing I might say to persuade you that I am
not. I still cannot.”
“You forget that I can tell if a being serves good or evil,”
Malowan said mildly. “Give me your hands.” He gripped them gently then shook his
head. “You are no servant of evil, Nemis, though I had no doubt of that before
now.”
“That is good enough for me then,” Vlandar said.
“Thank you,” the mage said simply. “I see nothing else useful
in this, and no way to tell where Eclavdra is. If she remains in the great
underground city where I left her, there is nothing we can do about her.”
“Then we will do what we can to render her servants less
useful to her,” Vlandar said. He waited until the mage went off to his
spellbook, then eyed the paladin sidelong. “You are certain of him, Mal?”
“I am.”
“You had better be,” the warrior replied. “Meantime, you and
I need to go over this map. I want no dithering once we are inside.”
* * *
It was still very dark when the party crouched in a close
huddle near the top of the hill so that Malowan could orient them. The air was
cool and damp, and a misty rain fell now and again. By the time they were ready
to move on, Lhors’ hair was plastered to his skull where his hood had developed
a hole. In the still, pre-dawn air, the party could clearly hear two deep-voices
growling curses or insults at each other from the fortress.
Nemis translated in a soft whisper. “That is the tower
guard—two young ones who are wet, cold, and out of ale. They have a long hour
before the relief guards come, and it is so foggy that they can’t see anything
anyway.”
“Not really watching, then,” Khlened whispered.
Plowys scowled at his hands. At the moment, he wasn’t
speaking to anyone. Just as well, Lhors thought, since he had a carrying voice
and a whisper sharper than Khlened’s.
As Lhors triple-checked his quiver of javelins, Vlandar
gripped Malowan’s fingers and nodded. The paladin started down the slope with
Agya on his heels and Nemis bringing up the rear. The others waited. It remained
quiet except for the distant conversation of the two guards.
“Rowan, go,” Vlandar breathed.
The ranger eased out of sight, Maera close behind her.
Khlened stayed behind only long enough to sheathe the spear he carried. Smart of
him, Lhors decided. A man could stab himself, if he slipped on his way down.
Lhors checked his own blades for the fourth time to be certain nothing was
likely to come loose.
A few more moments passed, then Vlandar tapped Plowys on the
shoulder and started down the slope, gesturing for the others to follow. Lhors
remembered to take a slow count of two before following. As he reached the
shelter of the boulder and brush, he could just make out the sound of a
dislodged stone some distance below. Fortunately, one of the tower guards began
coughing as if he’d choked on something. His companion broke into raucous
laughter.
Vlandar set off once again, Plowys ahead of him and Lhors
coming last. The ground beneath his feet was crumbly, but it leveled out before
very long.
The fog was thicker down here, and the early morning was
still very dark. Lhors could see little except for Vlandar’s reassuring form
just ahead of him, but as they reached the main doors, he could make out Agya
doing something to the doors. Picking the lock, he assumed.