Regret's Shadow (Sins of Earth Trilogy) (15 page)

“It has been far too long since we’ve seen one of the Fair Folk in our Realm, Your
Majesty,” he said as he straightened.  He met the gazes of her rangers and gave them a quick tilt of his head.

Ethelrynne regarded him for a moment before responding, “I agree, Lord Van Uther.  It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

He nodded.  Seemingly satisfied that formalities had been observed, he turned to resume his place behind the table.

“Now, Corporal, tell me of this goblin advance…”

The discussion lasted well into the evening hours.  They had been brought dinner in the study, which held several well-cushioned chairs.  Just the same, more had to be brought in to accommodate them all.  They arranged the furniture around the hearth before settling down to eat.

The meal consisted of roast beef with dark gravy, carrots, fat mushrooms, and baked potatoes.  It was sturdy fare, but delicious.  The group was more than happy to have a real meal, and ate with gusto. 

The main course was followed-up with a mincemeat pie that Hade especially relished.  Wine was sampled all around, and the mood had loosened comfortably.

The b
aron was a charming host.  His knowledge of human-elven relations from old times was better than most, in that it consisted of more than just bedtime stories.  It was plain that the Van Uther line had kept much of the history of their Realm intact. 

Ethelrynne was pleased to hear reverence in th
e baron’s voice as he recounted tales of men and elves fighting goblins in ages past.

“It seems we may have a chance to reprise our ancestor’s roles,” he said, raising a glass to Ethelrynne and her rangers.

She smiled at him, the firelight glinting in her violet eyes.  She raised her goblet in return and merely nodded.

“I hate to disrupt the mood,” Hade put in, setting his plate upon an end table, “But we still have some issues to discuss.”

“Right, of course.” The baron set aside his glass and leaned forward. 

“You would like to travel to Freehold, to meet with my uncle.  I think we can arrange something, although I’ll be sending a pigeon to speed the message ahead of you.”

“Speaking of speed,” Hade said, producing Osric’s ring from his pocket, “We were told that Osric’s apprentices could help expedite our journey to the capital.”

Enella leaned forward and took the ring.  She turned it over in her hand and seemed thoughtful.

“I know this marking. His tower is on the other side of the river…I think my master knows him…” she seemed to realize that she was holding what could very likely be a dead man’s ring, and hurriedly handed it back to the soldier.

“In the morning, I’ll take you there.  I’m not sure what his apprentices will be able to do, but Osric was well-traveled – even among wizards.”

Hade nodded.  A silence grew as everyone fell into their own thoughts.  All that could be heard was the crackling of the fire.

Holt cleared his throat finally, “I hope I can persuade you to be my guests tonight, here in the castle.  There are plenty of rooms.”

The others stood, setting down dinnerware.  The baron rang a small bell, and in came several servants to clear the dishes.  Hade approached the baron.

“We are extremely grateful for your hospitality,
M’lord,” he said.

Holt waved him away, “It’s nothing, really.”  He leaned closer and lowered his voice, “Honestly, I never expected to see an elf in these halls, let alone six!  Between the elves and the goblins, we’re living in strange times, my friend.”

Hade had to agree.  He looked back at the others, and Ethelrynne caught his eye.  She offered him a small smile. 

For just a moment, the soldier felt his blood stirring.  He returned the private g
esture, and looked away as the baron moved to give instructions to his servants for their accommodations.

Soon they were settling in for the night, in lush feather beds.  Each of them
was given their own chamber, and Hade was thankful to be allowed to collect his thoughts for the first time in more than a week.

He’d bathed in a hot bath provided by servants, checked his wounds and found them well mended, if still scabbed, and
donned a robe provided by the baron.  Sliding into the comfortable bed, he thought that he might just be able to get used to such luxury.

As he drifted off to sleep, he thought of everything he’d been through in the past
few days.  Among the images of slaughter, fire, and death, the one that he kept coming back to, even as he sank into unconsciousness, was the smallest of smiles…

Calistra Emberlock stood impatiently and watched her men set up a command center in the dank cellar.  Her arms crossed over her black armored chest, she made no move to help the low-ranking soldiers as they set up tables, chairs, chest, braziers, cots, and other furniture they’d use during their stay in the city.

They were deep beneath an abandoned warehouse in a run-down district of the port city, Galloway.  It was humanity’s largest metropolis, and its greatest center of trade.  Its crescent-shaped
Bay of Eels made a naturally sheltered port that saw massive amounts of tonnage on a daily basis.

It had been little trouble to secret a force of her household guard into the city, and down into the warehouse district.  The streets teamed with people, and no one batted an eyelash at the black and crimson uniforms of the
Lockhaven soldiers.

Still, Calistra had been cautious.  She didn’t like the idea of one of Remiel’s agents running off
to tell daddy that some of the baroness’s men had been seen in the city.  She had to assume that his little shadows had begun to suspect something. 

She’d sent no answer to his summons, and that would be incrimination enough for the king.

“Where is Duln?” she barked.  Several men started at the noise in the chamber.  One of her aides stood at attention.

“M’lady, the c
aptain is still at the market, as you ordered,” the voice was young and clear, but the echoes among the dark made it too tinny.

She huffed, “Of course he is.”

Nonplussed, the aide continued his work.  The baroness merely frowned harder. 

She misliked the dungeon-like quality of the place that Drejth had chosen for their deployment, and it made her antsy.  She knew damn well that Wielder Duln was securing
supplies at the market, but she was growing impatient.  The sooner they were done with this, the better.

The markets of Galloway were many and always busy.  Near the docks, the Water Market was the largest, and saw the most activity.  Goods from across the
Realm were haggled over and distributed in hasty fashion.  More inland were the Green Market, the Gold Market, and the Widow’s Market.  All traded a vast variety of goods, but each had their own specialties.

Wielder Duln walked the stalls of the Widow’s Market, looking for trouble.  He’d been dispatched to secure supplies for the contingent, but he also had a personal reason for choosing this particular venue.

He’d already made the necessary inquiries to ensure that foodstuff would be delivered to their warehouse front, and so he was stalking the lanes of the bazaar with an eye toward larceny.

Making note of pickpockets and bilkers had been easy; old habits die hard. 
It was the more hardened criminal he was looking for, someone who could put him in touch with the Old Badger.

As he was beginning to think that
he should head back before the baroness got suspicious, he realized he’d picked up another tail. 

This one didn’t appear to be a street waif or down-on-his-luck pickpocket.  No, this one was far to
o skilled at his trade to be as blatant as all that.  Still, Duln hadn’t lost his footpad’s instincts, and the memories were coming back enough to allow him to use some of the surroundings to his advantage.

He ducked through a baker’s stall, startling the portly woman who plied her goods there.  He knew that directly behind this stall should be the entrance to a basement bath house.

Luckily, his memory didn’t fail him.  He was down the small flight of stairs and had ducked into a linen closet in short order.  He slowed his breathing, listening for any sounds of pursuit.  He was rewarded a minute later with the sounds of furtive footfalls coming down the steps.

The cutpurse was taken completely by surprise as the big man leapt from his hiding spot.  Duln wrapped his victim in a bear hug, ensuring that his arms were pinned down to his sides.  He then hammered the man against the closet door, satisfied to hear a yelp.  Another slam for good measure, and he was sure he had the man’s attention.

“You don’t strike me as the bathing type, Dirtbag,” he hissed in the skinny man’s ear.  His dark hair was greasy, and the smell of sweat and the street was strong on him. 

The thief gave a twist and grunted with the effort of trying to wriggle free, but the warrior’s hold was like a vice.

“C’mon, man.  Lemme go!  What’re you, Watch?” The smaller man’s voice had an irritating nasal quality, and Wielder resisted the urge to bash him against the door again. 

He threw a quick look over his shoulder and saw no one had taken undue interest in the scuffle.  At least, not yet.

“You’ll wish I was Watch if you don’t do what I say.”  The statement was made with such menace, such matter-of-fact callousness, that the waif immediately stilled.  He’d spent his life on the streets, and knew when he was dealing with a mark, and when he was up against a trained killer.

“That’s better,” Duln growled, and set the man on his feet.  After a final rib-bruising squeeze, he released the thief.  The waif turned and immediately his eyes went to the gloved hand that rested on Wielder’s sword pommel. 

He got the message.

“I want you to do me a favor, G
utter-Rat,” if the cutpurse took offense at the name, he didn’t show it.  Duln liked that.

“I need a message given to the Old Badger,” he rumbled.

The thief’s eyes widened for a moment, before he quickly regained control.  It was enough for Duln’s attention to detail.  He pulled a gold coin from his purse, and the other man unconsciously licked his lips.  Wielder couldn’t help but flash a toothy grin.

“This coin is yours if you let him know that his ol
d chain man is back in town.  Tell him I’ll be at the Pit and Pickerel most nights, should he decide to get off his ass and take a walk.  I won’t be in town long.”

With that, he flipped the coin to the thief and jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

“Now beat it before I think better of letting you go without more lumps.”

The other man didn’t need to be told twice.  He was gone in the blink of an eye, and Duln stood alone in the dim foyer of the bath house.  He rubbed his stubbly chin and thought about what he was doing.

His years as a cutpurse in Galloway hadn’t been the most pleasant of his life, or career.  Yet, somehow here he was, looking to fall back into his old routine, even as he knew that he wouldn’t be in town long.  It couldn’t be helped, he supposed.

He turned and made his way back through the baker’s stall, falling in with the flow of humanity that coursed through the market.  Before long he found himself back at the entrance to the warehouse.

The building was nearly indistinguishable from the other storehouses around it.  This of course, was precisely the point.  He entered through the front doors, which were never locked and left slightly ajar.  It presented the idea that there was nothing of value to be had inside was all part of making sure their little operation didn’t attract the wrong kind of attention.

There were two offices and a boardroom that he walked through, boards creaking under his boots, before he entered the massive warehouse proper.  It was largely devoid of the trappings of a
storeroom in use; there were a few empty crates here and there, some boards and hand tools scattered about in the dust, but nothing that said the place was part of a successful shipping operation.  Only the footprints in the grime showed any clue as to what was going on.

In the back room, the one in which contraband had been haggled over and smuggled through during the building’s heyday, there was a trap door.  Following orders, he walked over the trapdoor as if it wasn’t there, and walked out the back door.

This put him in a tight alleyway, with weeds already beginning to grow up along the bases of the surrounding warehouses.  Seeing no one, he stepped back inside and closed the door.  The idea was to make anyone that came into the warehouse think that folks were merely using it for a shortcut to someplace where the real action was taking place.

He descended the staircase under the trapdoor and, after closing it behind him, he grabbed the lantern he’d left on a nail when he’d passed by earlier.  He made his way through the basement, noting as he did signs of the group’s passing.  He had a habit of looking for trouble, even in familiar surroundings, and this place was no different.

He’d developed a game that kept him on his guard, one that had saved his bacon more than once back in the day.  He simply pretended that each room he was entering contained several men to whom he owed money.  It hadn’t been unheard of, and it was better than assuming everything was fine.

This ensured that he was never jumped, never taken by surprise if someone was indeed
waiting for him just around the corner.  He’d avoided more than one slit throat or knife in the back that way, and he saw no reason to change any time soon.

Under where the center of the main storeroom lay above, there was a nondescript chamber. 
Some dried out pallets in one corner concealed another trapdoor.  This one had seen less use when they arrived, and it still creaked when he yanked it free.

He could only assume that at one point this section of the buildings sub
basement had been used as access to the sewers.  There was a time when the sewers of Galloway were used for smuggling, before the baron had instituted “pest control” policies that involved redirecting many of the infantry’s training patrols into its subterranean passages.  That had been a particularly effective deterrent, and Duln frowned at the memory.

Nowadays, the tunnels were not
all connected, but this particular set of passages lead to an ancient crypt beneath the warehouse a block away.  He had figured that the place had once been a temple or church, and the catacombs had been long forgotten by the city planners.

He encountered the first sentry, and barked out the password.  It had hardly been needed down here, and Emberlock had chided him for his surplus of caution.  Just the same, Duln hadn’t lived as long as he had by being lazy.  The sentries bought them peace of mind to complete their mission.

“Well it’s about time, Captain,” the baroness’s harsh tones bounced off of the bricks all around.  He had a feeling listening to her rave down here would get old in a hurry.

“I’m sorry, M’lady.  Was there something I missed while I was out?” his tone was
completely innocent, but they both knew that not a damn thing had happened since he’d left. 

Calistra had been growing more and more edgy as the moment of their gambit’s completion neared.  He just wished that she had a better handle on it.

“Set-up is complete,” she said.  Walking over to the field table that had been set up, she beckoned him with a black-gloved hand.  He followed her and placed the lantern upon the edge of an old map, yellowed with age.

“This is the catacomb layout that Tolwyn managed to dig up in the library.  It shows us the antechamber in which Drejth believes the device will need to be placed.”

Duln frowned at the mention of the wraith.  He was a man of steel and blood, man against man, not ghosts and sorcery.  While he didn’t like dealing with the shade or his minions, the baroness was confident in the plan, and he’d been forced to swallow his disgust.

“Does the ghost know when the device is supposed to arrive,” he asked, trying to sound intrigued.  He only half succeeded.

“I haven’t spoken to him since we left,” Calistra looked over her shoulder at the covered mirror that had been set in one corner.

They had s
et out from Moonrest over a month ago, and despite her attempting to use the mirror to contact Drejth, Calistra had not gotten any new information during the trip.  It had disquieted her more than she wanted to admit.

“It matters little, at this point,” she went on,
turning back to the map, “The stoolies from the temple will be here before long, and my man at the gates will inform us as soon as they arrive.  Don’t worry, Captain,” she smiled a crooked smile, “The headmaster is an old friend, remember?”

Again, he was forced to fight the growing frown he felt.  When they’d made the trip to the Temple six months ago, Calistra had made a point to seduce the fat, arrogant waste of a man that ran the show in the
up-jumped library.  The thought of it had turned his stomach at the time; now it only made him slightly queasy.

“Your man can’t be at the gate at all hours, M’lady,” he said, feeling the need to be contrary.

She waved a hand, irritated, “Believe me, Colius will come running as soon as he’s able.  He won’t be able to help himself.  It’s not like the fat bastard has been covered in ladies since last we met.”

Duln was forced to turn away
from the baroness’s lascivious grin.  She chuckled at his discomfort.

“I’ll recon the chamber, then,” he said.

“Excellent,” she purred.

“Take Tolwyn with you.  He said something about getting a feel for the
emanations of the place before we put the artifact in place.  Something about disruption of the ritual or some such.” 

Reassured by his return, she was back in command.  She snapped her fingers at a guard.