“No . . . but I shall tell you about it when you’re done.” It did not take Nermesa much longer to complete his tale, the Black Dragon finishing with his journey to Gunderland and the subsequent events there.
Prospero ate the last of his food, then sat still for a moment, concentrating. Finally, he said, “It answers some questions for me, but raises far more. Perhaps when you hear my story, it will do the same for you.”
“You are correct,” the Poitainian went on, “about the basics of the attack, that they surrounded us in numbers and drove me to where I could not escape. By now, though, you might suspect that they were not Zingarans. Rather, my attackers were all Gundermen.”
Nermesa leaned back.
“All?”
“I was as surprised as you. More to the point, they were Gundermen with whom I was familiar, members of the garrison under the command of Captain Elarius.”
“Captain—” The Aquilonian shook his head. “We spoke with him and his second, Halrik—” Nermesa gaped. “A—”
Prospero nodded. “A
Gunderman
. In fact, the leader of the attackers. Small wonder that they knew where best to catch us unaware.”
“More Gundermen . . .”
“Those who seek the throne must rely heavily on their reputation for reliability, eh, Nermesa? I also find it interesting that Trocero’s message never reached Tarantia, a message that would have first had to travel through the outpost at Samalara . . . which you tell me is commanded by a Captain Dante, also a Gunderman.”
Someone did indeed seem to trust in Gundermen for this plot. Nermesa mulled over the point. “It would be of interest to know which nobles in the capital have a preference for the service of such.”
“As I think also. He must have some prestige in Gunderland for so many of them to be willing to become traitors just for good coin. Now, where was I? Ah, yes . . .”
At the cost of several of their number, the Gundermen took Prospero. Halrik and another Gunderman discussed where best to transfer their prisoner and in the process made mention of an estate. “It is quite possible that it was your Wulfrim with whom he spoke, now that I hear your story. But time seemed of the essence, and they decided that I had to be moved straight on to their contacts in Gunderland . . . which I have surmised includes Arumus.
“I was taken, bound, out of my beloved Poitain by a group of them under the command of a one-eyed blackguard named Fornus. I knew that if I reached Gunderland still in their clutches, I was done for. Fortunately, my opportunity came near Galparan. I’d been working on my bonds since the beginning, very secretively, and finally achieved success. We were near the Shirki River when I made my bid for freedom.”
Prospero had hoped to escape to Galparan and come back with reinforcements before the culprits knew what had happened. Much to his regret, however, Fornus and two others spotted him.
“We did battle by the river, and they learned there that one Poitainian knight, even without his sword, is worth four of them . . . and there were only
three
. I knocked one senseless, slew another with the first’s blade, then fought Fornus near the river’s edge.” Prospero shook his head at the memory. “And in the end, struggling hand to hand, we both fell in. It was there that I made the discovery that, while I could swim, poor Fornus could not.”
“Did the others not search for you?”
“Oh, yes, they did, but Fornus’s body in the water and the turbulence of the Shirki at that time convinced them that I had been lost. They could not know that I had managed to make it to the other side and lay hidden in a small depression.”
The Gundermen finally continued on, and the fact that they did not turn back made Prospero assume that they intended to go on with their plan, whatever it was. “I surmised that at the very least it would involve foul play against Conan—”
And it was at that moment that Nermesa recalled the terrible news from back home, news that he could not believe he had not mentioned to his companion already. “Prospero! Forgive me! I must tell you! Nemedia wars upon Aquilonia again, and I know that it must do with what happened to us!”
“How new is the information?” snapped the generally calm Poitainian. When Nermesa told him, he frowned. “Carried by bird, no more than a week, maybe two. Nemedia would be at the border still, then. Conan’s made certain that King Tarascus would never be able to sneak up on him again. We are looking at a long, bloody spectacle . . . but one that Tarascus would surely lose as he did in the past . . . surely . . .”
“But he expects duplicity on our side, Prospero! Someone who will seek to assassinate Conan, then seize the throne and ally himself with the Nemedian tyrant.”
The other knight considered this. “Very possible, very possible. It almost happened so the last time . . . and yet, some piece does not fit right.” Sir Prospero finally shrugged. “Well, it is up to us to find that piece and any others missing and fit this all together. Quickly, I might add!”
“Why did you not let Count Trocero know of your escape?” asked Nermesa, returning to the story.
“Because then the vipers would have crawled back into their holes, waiting for us to grow complacent again. I knew that my best clue lay not in returning to Poitain and capturing Halrik, who likely knew only so much could be sacrificed, but to come here, where my captors had intended. I followed them, just as you followed your Wulfrim, and have been here ever since.”
Nermesa could fill in the rest. “And Melia alerted you to my presence.”
“Yes, she is a clever lass . . . in many ways. The opportunity was a golden one, and now that you have told me about this Wulfrim, some recent events make more sense. Arumus welcomed a new arrival, one he treated with much respect. From your description and what I managed to make out of the man, it must be this Wulfrim.”
But Nermesa found it puzzling that Arumus would welcome someone who had failed, as Wulfrim clearly had. That Dario’s brother had done so meant to the Aquilonian that Wulfrim was an even more important part of the plan than he had previously thought.
“Is Wulfrim still in the castle?”
“If it is indeed the man you chased, then, yes, I believe so. The day is overcast; I think it safe for us to slip back out and keep watch on the castle. I have reason to believe that something is imminent there, perhaps your Wulfrim preparing to head to his masters in Aquilonia. It would make sense with what you told me about Nemedia’s sudden move.”
It would be a risky excursion, but Nermesa did not hesitate to agree to it. He knew that the more time they waited, the worse the situation in the east would become.
And the more likely that the conspirators in Tarantia would put their assassination attempt into play.
Prospero led the way again as the two, now mounted, departed the ancient cave. Nermesa eyed the drawings once more, wondering at the mystical forces that might be a part of them. He especially recalled the part of the dream when the figure he thought of as Crom had looked down at him. That, surely, had been a creation of his mind, not some link to the spirit world. Prospero’s dreams had never included the Cimmerian god. Likely, as his companion had suggested, Nermesa’s slumbering mind had incorporated Crom into the dream after the Poitainian had mentioned how near the two were to King Conan’s former home.
Yes, that had to be it . . .
“We ride toward the north,” the other knight informed him as they traveled. “There is a smaller gate on that face of the castle. I have noticed that when there are suspicious matters going on, it tends to be the side hidden from Heinard through which the miscreants pass. I believe that the headman does not know what his own brother is up to.”
The thought of riding even farther north did not sit well with Nermesa, who already felt much too near Crom’s domain. Worse, the misty peaks farther on reminded him of those in the dream and he half expected to see one of the giant, furred pachyderms come stomping toward Gunderland.
More than an hour passed, and still Nermesa caught no sign of the castle itself. When he finally broached the subject to his companion, Prospero pointed to a hill some distance to the west.
“A watch post there.” The Poitainian noble indicated another hill more to the southwest. “And there. There are others. I’ve memorized them all and noted any changes that Arumus makes. Our journey will take much longer than it should, but I believe it will get us to our destination unnoticed.”
Nermesa appreciated Prospero’s thoroughness even more when they finally veered around toward their goal and he spotted the first patrol from the castle. Prospero nodded when he saw the riders, who could not see the pair from their vantage point.
“Exactly on schedule. I admire that about the Gundermen. Very punctual.”
Once the patrol had passed, the duo continued on to Prospero’s chosen location. Nermesa immediately saw the advantages of it. There was a natural overhang that protected both them and their horses from most of the elements and a ridge that kept the watchers from the view of those in the castle. However, one could only reach it safely if originally coming from the northeast, something no Cimmerian raider could have done without first being sighted by one of the other outposts Prospero had pointed out. Therefore, there was little reason for anyone in the castle to concern themselves with the desolate location.
Or so both men hoped.
“It’s served me well so far,” remarked the other knight to Nermesa. “But each time I return here with more caution than previously.”
They settled down immediately to the task, one watching the castle while the other kept an eye out for any unexpected patrols. Every now and then, the knights switched, in part to keep their minds fresh by the change in scenery.
Nermesa estimated that at least four hours passed with little to note other than the changing of the castle’s own patrols. Yet he and Prospero persevered, both highly aware of the threat to all Aquilonia.
The Poitainian abruptly cleared his throat. Nermesa, who had been shifting his gaze from Gunderland to Cimmeria and back again, immediately tensed.
“What is it?”
“Another patrol departing. That’s a change in their routine, and I think it for a specific reason.”
“Could they be aware of us?” Nermesa’s hand slid to the hilt of his sword.
“Possibly, but this location should keep us safe from prying eyes. I would almost swear that they are expecting someone.”
Both men now kept an eye out, waiting. Their patience was finally rewarded near sunset, when two riders in long travel cloaks came back to the northern gate with the patrol that had earlier ridden out.
Nermesa leaned forward as best he could. Even from a distance, there was something in the way one of the newcomers moved that reminded him of—
The figure removed his hood. Although he was a Gunderman, his hair was loose.
Wulfrim
.
“It’s he!” Nermesa muttered quickly. “That’s Wulfrim!”
“The same one I thought it might be. So he’s been out and about. He must have left the castle when I slept. Those cloaks. Only he and the other are wearing them.”
Nermesa had noticed that, also. Both Wulfrim and his companion were clad more warmly than the other hardy Gundermen.
“They came from Cimmeria . . .” he suggested.
Prospero shook his head. “By
way
of Cimmeria. Even your Wulfrim would not be so mad as to stay there longer than needed. They must have links with the next castle to the east or even the one beyond that.”
Both knights grew silent for a moment. If such was the case, then the number of Gundermen working for the mysterious plotters was greater than they had thought. Nermesa was aware just how much gold it would cost to bribe so many to turn traitor. That meant a noble with many connections and rich holdings and, while there were more than a few of those, their number was still very much finite.
It still puzzled him that they relied so much on the Gundermen, especially so many still living in their homeland. Of what use was it to keep them here? Surely, they should have been moving toward Tarantia to shore up whatever pretender sought the throne.
He said as much to Prospero, who could not answer him. For all his years of fighting the intrigues of Aquilonian politics, the Poitainian was just as baffled.
“At least we know now that Wulfrim is with Dario’s brother,” Nermesa finally said. “And I believe him to be the key to unlocking all this.”
“Agreed. I would suggest that our next move be—hold on!”
Nermesa followed the other man’s gaze. Wulfrim, who had appeared to be ready to enter Arumus’s castle, pulled his hood over his head again just as a graying figure in armor stepped out from the edifice.
“Arumus,” Prospero clarified.
Dario’s brother grunted something to Wulfrim, then handed him a small sack. Another Gunderman following Arumus gave Wulfrim’s companion a larger pouch, which Nermesa surmised might contain supplies.
Wulfrim said something in return to Arumus, then both men raised their hands in a splayed-finger gesture that Nermesa did not recognize. He looked to Prospero for explanation, but the Poitainian did not have one.
A moment later, the two hooded riders turned their mounts around. The Black Dragon expected the patrol to escort them out, but the other Gundermen remained behind.
“This is our opportunity,” Prospero suddenly remarked. “I know where they must pass. I think the pair of us can handle but two men, wouldn’t you say?”
Nermesa nodded grimly. He had chased Wulfrim for far too long to pass up this opportunity.
The knights slipped back to their mounts. Prospero made a quick study of the terrain in order to ascertain if there were any patrols or outposts that might see their departure, then led Nermesa north after the two riders.
“Will we have to ride into Cimmeria?” the Aquilonian asked in a whisper.