Mordraud, Book One (45 page)

“
The officers have heard rumours that there’ll soon be another assault.”

The old politician raised his eyebrows and looked, astounded, at Erain, who however remained silent.

“
My son told me nothing of this.”

“
No, father, I don’t know about it. I don’t think it’s been decided yet.”

The young man
’s tone was humble, unassuming and fearful. Even too fearful.

“
There’s talk of replacements in the highest ranks, and in some cases things are already in motion... Have you any news on this, Erain?”

“
No, I’ve heard nothing about this either.”

“
Why should they change? Things seem to be going rather well at the moment. The present commanders know how to do their job excellently,” the father put in.

‘
Could I be wrong?’ wondered Dunwich, perplexed. ‘They seem totally relaxed... With me seated here before them, they should show some signs of unease, and yet...’

Erid
went on. “But let’s speak about you, commander. I’ve heard much praise for you and your battle skills... My son follows your conduct with admiration, looking to it as a model.”

Erain
lowered his eyes in modesty. “Please, don’t embarrass me in front of our distinguished guest, father.”

Dunwich
couldn’t figure out Erain’s behaviour. Shy, and even awkward at his presence. But not because of such a secret. Dunwich already knew he was an idol for the younger Lances. That was nothing new. Up until that moment, the son had made no false move. He exuded innocence in an even irritating way.

“
Above all, he admires your ability to command, which, paired with your loyalty, makes you a born leader – a man of the future... He himself uses those words when speaking of you.”

Erain
blushed visibly, and avoided Dunwich’s inquiring gaze.

“
As your son is undoubtedly aware, loyalty is the first quality in a good soldier... Isn’t that right?”

“
Yes, captain. Your words are always wise,” he replied promptly.

Dunwich
had seen him on duty only a couple of times – nothing more challenging than a patrol or a night-shift guarding the officers’ tents. He hadn’t struck him as a man suited to combat. He’d come to the conclusion that his father must have forced him into a career in the Lances, but from the way he spoke, the contrary seemed more convincing.

“
Why did you choose to become a Lance, Erain?”

His
father was about to respond, but the son was quicker. “Because I admired the eminent leaders defending the honour of the capital, captain.”

“
Commendable, truly commendable. I’m sorry I’ve had few occasions to have you at my side in battle, out in the open.”

The politician looked at
Dunwich uncertainly. “What do you mean, sir?”

“
Nothing insinuating. I’d merely like to have been able to appreciate your son’s valour, but there’s not been the occasion...” replied Dunwich.

Erain
went red and shifted his gaze to the floor again.

“
I’ve always dreamt of fighting at your side, but I have a fragile state of health. I get ill easily, far too easily.”

“
Unfortunately that’s how it is. My son has a warrior’s soul, but a child’s body. He’s been frail since he was a boy,” his father confirmed, nodding with a serious expression. “Many a time have I suggested that he follow me into politics, but he’s never wanted to. He prefers the Imperial Lance life, even if he only lives half of it.”

“
I’m sorry,” replied a disappointed Dunwich. It was unthinkable that the bland daddy’s boy was concealing something. He and his father had just confessed that they’d had to pay to get him through the physical tests to join the Imperial Lances. “The day will come when I may need your son’s assistance, and I am sure I’ll be able to count on him.”

Dunwich
got up and gave his goblet to the servant waiting patiently near the lounge wall.

“
One last thing, Erain... I’m looking for a young man by the name of Firacan. A friend recommended him – I thought I’d ask his services for a rather delicate guarding job. I tried at his home, but I didn’t find him in. I think I’ve seen you two chatting together occasionally, so perhaps you might know where I can find him...”

Erain r
eplied in a voice laden with distaste. “I’ve been out with him a few times, in company of others from the barracks, for the odd glass of wine. But I haven’t the faintest idea of where he might have got to.”

“
Why all this underlying hatred?”

“
Hatred?! No, captain, no hatred! It’s just that after I got to know him a little better, I preferred to avoid seeing him again. A grimy coward with a loose, nasty tongue.”

“
Did he say anything he shouldn’t have?”

“
Quite a few things. He used to bad-mouth the Lances. He liked to call them
Prancers
and
Tip-Boys
. He implied they were corrupt, and that they were working against the Emperor’s war. I argued with him a couple of times, and then, if you’ll forgive the rough language, I told him to bloody well get lost.”

“
Forget I asked – I’ll inquire elsewhere. Thanks for the nice little talk.”

“
Don’t mention it. The pleasure was all ours,” replied Erid, getting to his feet.

“
Captain... it was an honour,” his son echoed.

Dunwich
left even more confused than when he came in. Firacan had been primed by someone, but it obviously wasn’t Erain.

‘
The boy’s so innocent that he’s out of place among his companions... The fatso must have named him merely to throw me off track. I’m back to where I started. Now it’s Nidanio’s turn.’

The last stop on his short trail. An adept chanter awaiting a p
osition in the Arcane choir – the classic untarnished yet undistinguished man. Not very striking, not particularly well-known and not very successful. Dunwich didn’t even know whether he had a prominent family to back him. But it was the only other name that had come out of Fatty’s mouth.

‘
The least well-suited person to orchestrate a plot... but I have little else,’ he thought, weaving among the crowd thronging Cambria’s large central street.

***

Dunwich was sitting at the desk in his private library, intent on reading a strategy essay he’d bought at a small bookshop in the centre that afternoon. The usual handbook for the Military Academy students, and also exceedingly dated. About three centuries old, he reckoned. He smiled at the thought that Cambria had been using the exact same tactics for tens of generations. No wonder Eldain struck people as a strategic genius, he mulled, shaking his head.

After
days wasted trying to dig up information on Nidanio, he’d had the good fortune to bump into him in front of the bookshop. Double luck, since a cart piled high with hay bales had trundled by on the road at that precise moment, preventing his prey from spotting him. Dunwich had waited outside, mingling with the passing crowds, and had gone in only once Nidanio had already left.

The shopkeeper, a
courteous elderly man, recognised him and showered him with praise, rubbing his hands together in anticipation of a handsome purchase. Through the shop’s sole window, Dunwich had spied Nidanio leafing through a book with a red cover, so he asked the bookseller what it was and if it was for sale. A few gold Florins were of course enough to convince him to part with it.

Wit
hout further ado, he returned home, shut himself up in his study and began examining the book’s binding, cover and pages.

‘
What was he looking for? He came out carrying no other books, and this is the only one he browsed at length.’

He hadn
’t managed to find much out about the last suspect on his list. An honest worker, anonymous to the point of naturally seeming dubious, with no prominent friends, and he didn’t frequent any well-known inns or meeting places. That book was his first contact with Nidanio’s life. And, in keeping with his character, it was a nondescript and worthless volume.

He was now
halfway through the book and still hadn’t noticed anything unusual, except for the author’s agile style, which coaxed him to read on.

‘
Why should a harmony scholar be interested in military books?! It is certainly well-written, but I can’t see anything that...’ he was thinking as he turned the final page of a detailed dissertation on cavalry use in battle.

Exact
ly at the start of the new chapter, Dunwich realised he was reading out loud. Something he never did, and hadn’t even done as a boy.

But
what was worse was that his words didn’t match with the book. He was shaping a tune without wanting to.

‘
A trap!’

Too late
. Not even his hands wanted to let go of the red book. His words began condensing into a chant. He immediately recognised what it was about. He was seeking out the resonance for fire. And he was doing it very badly. The first mistaken passage and the chanting would turn against him. Gripped by panic, he attempted a last possibility, desperately focusing on his favourite resonance, achieved through years of effort at the Arcane. His body vanished within his own shadow on the floor just as his voice reached the last note. The book abruptly turned black and exploded, with such violence as to annihilate the entire contents of the room. The window overlooking the courtyard shattered into a thousand shards and the walls cracked and crumbled.

When
he re-emerged from the floor, Dunwich had to pick his way through the rubble. His villa had been gutted by the explosion. Amazed and shocked, he gazed quickly around, gasping because of the dust and his fear. Nidanio must have altered the text in a sublimely sophisticated way to create such an excellent trap. He’d heard talk of such a technique. Inserting letters and word parts to set a sort of rhythmic reading, especially in the case of chanters or harmony scholars. It was hard to notice in time – a resonances enthusiast’s mind was enticed by their constant pursuit. Dunwich’s eyes had recognised before his brain the precise scheme of the changes Nidanio had made to the text. And he’d performed them as if he were standing before a chanting score. Which would obviously turn against the person uttering the sounds.

A damn
effective trick, he reflected, dazed.

As soon as he
’d physically recovered, he rushed out the house without even answering the questions from his terrified serving staff. On the street skirting the yard, many passers-by had gathered to stare at the smoke pouring out the windows and rising from the ruins. A few were calling for help, many more simply stood there, entranced by the wreckage and whispering to each other. Dunwich found himself surrounded by those who were fleeing and those summoned by the cries.

When
he heard the chanting, Dunwich thought only of dropping to the ground, pressing his face against the pavement.

“
Sir?! What’s happening?” a servant asked, pulling at his arm.

“
Keep down, you fool!”

The blade of
fire sped by at a palm’s width from his back, bowling over the servant and the townsfolk gathered in front of the disaster scene. The man’s legs frazzled and the flesh burnt to ashes, revealing white bones just above the knee. What remained of his attendant crumpled on top of him.

Dunwich
saw women laden with baskets of vegetables rolling on the ground in vain attempts to put out the flames consuming their torsos. An old man was cut in two. His legs lay on one side, his disembowelled trunk on the other.

‘
Like being in battle. Like being in battle. Like being in battle...’ Dunwich repeated mechanically to himself in his head.

It was
a challenge to focus. The stench of sizzled flesh was unbearable. He moved instinctively. He shifted the servant’s corpse and began running as fast as he could towards an alley on the other side of the street.

‘
The voice came from there, I’m sure it did!’

A
man was making for the bottom of the alley, hopping over the piles of rubbish and the broken wooden fruit boxes littering the ground. Dunwich raised his hands, joined them before his face, and murmured a brief harmony.

An invisible barrage of air zoomed between the walls of the houses. The window
panes shattered in blasts as it passed. Nidanio turned and stretched out his hands, chanting the exact same melody as Dunwich. The shock wave flattened everything in its path, sweeping away the bricks and the paving slabs. Nidanio had come out of it unscathed. He’d managed to synchronise with his resonance, Dunwich thought in disbelief. With very rare precision and speed.

“
STOP, YOU BASTARD!” Dunwich yelled while already thinking on another chant. Nidanio placed his hands on the walls and muttered, bowing his head.