The Clandestine Circle (4 page)

“And what makes you think your opinions are any better?” Lutran the Elder said heatedly. “At least they have experience working in the mountains.”

“Gentlemen,” soothed a tall man in one of the scarlet uniforms. “Farm or city, we are all part of Sanction, and wherever the lava goes, we will be there to fight it.”

Chan Dar refused to be placated. “But it’s going to explode any minute. We need to evacuate—”

“It’s not going to blow for at least a week or two, you idiot. There’s plenty of time to …” began Lutran, clearly exasperated.

“Says who? Your so-called experts?” said Chan Dar scathingly. He suddenly turned to the man in gold. “Lord Bight, you must do something immediately.”

Lord Bight stirred slightly, as if drawn from a deep meditation. He turned his head, and Linsha caught her breath at the sight of his profile silhouetted against the backdrop of the smoking volcano. Hogan Bight was a tall, powerfully built man, with chiseled features that stood out sharp and elegant against the red of the volcano and the blue of the sky. His hair and beard, both golden brown, were closely trimmed, and his eyes, framed by curved brows, glowed like sunlight through amber.

“The dome on the side of the volcano is not going to bother us in the next day or two,” he said in a voice deep and resonant. “Do not worry. I have already ordered crews to the dike to strengthen the erosion damage. I will monitor the activity, and when the time draws near, I will be here to control the flow.” His manner toward them was tolerant, patient, like a parent calming fussing children.

The city officials exchanged glares, then bowed low. Linsha gave her head an imperceptible shake. Those two were so involved in their petty arguments, they did not care how a mere man subdued a volcano, nor were they dazzled by the wonder of it. All they wanted were their walls and their cows kept safe.

As if he had seen her movement, Lord Bight turned completely around and gave her the full regard of his piercing gaze.

She returned his stare openly, frankly, her own eyes as green as spring grass. “Your Excellency,” she said in as steady a voice as she could muster.

T
he other men noticed Linsha for the first time, and she quickly saluted the two officers, Commander Ian Durne and his aide, Captain Alphonse Dewald.

“Sir,” she addressed Commander Durne. “I have a message for Lord Bight from the harbormaster.”

“Tell me,” Lord Bight demanded.

Linsha felt sweat trickle down her backbone. She was sweltering in her heavy red tunic, and nervous excitement only added to the heat. Now she was face-to-face with the controversial Lord Hogan Bight, and she did not want to make a fool of herself. She turned slightly toward him and repeated the harbormaster’s message.

Loud voices of consternation burst out from the other men and cut her off before she finished.

“A runaway!” Lutran the Elder cried. “In our harbor?” How did such a thing get past the defenses?”

The farmer looked grave. “And everyone on board dead?
An ill omen!”

Captain Dewald demanded, “Who is in charge of your patrol? Are they still on the dock?”

Linsha pursed her lips, annoyed that she was unable to finish her message over the noise. She raised her hand and said, “Excuse me, gentlemen,” very loudly. The men were startled into silence. With a bland expression, she said politely, “First, the ship was under sail and steered a straight course. It wasn’t until she passed the pilot that anyone noticed anything amiss. Second, I do not know if everyone is dead, because the ship had not been carefully searched when I left. Finally, Sergeant Ziratell Amwold is commander of my patrol. He is guarding the dockside and the wreck so no one may board without the harbormaster’s permission. Now, Your Excellency,” she went on, looking back at Lord Bight, “if I may continue?”

He hadn’t said a word or moved during her speech, but his intent gaze and the coiled tension of his stance revealed his close attention. Perhaps she was mistaken, or were those laugh lines around his mouth and at the corners of his eyes?

“Sir, the harbormaster has sent for a healer and has sealed off the runaway. He sends you word of this mishap in case you wish to inspect it for yourself.”

Lord Bight considered the message, and the message bearer, for a long moment before he turned to the city officials and said, “Good day, gentlemen. I will keep your concerns in mind. Commander Durne, ride with me to the docks. I want to have a word with the harbormaster.”

Muttering between themselves, the two officials bowed and withdrew, leaving Lord Bight with his guards.

“What is your name?” he asked Linsha. “You look familiar.”

“Lynn of Gateway. You probably don’t remember, but I brought several saddlebags full of crystals from the Valley of Crystal to your palace some time ago. One of your agents bought them from me.”

“Ah, yes. Lonar’s friend, the enterprising alley-basher. I see you’ve turned your sword to serving the city.”

Linsha was surprised he remembered her. Then again, Lord Bight was known for his phenomenal memory, and Lonar, one of his top officials, hadn’t returned from that fatal trip to the Valley of Crystal. She pushed an auburn curl from her brow. She had wanted Bight’s attention for some time and now she had it. How to make the most of it without being too pushy? “Sanction has taught me a good deal, Your Excellency.” Which was true. “I have found more opportunities here for my abilities than anywhere else. I find I like this work.”

Lord Bight nodded approvingly, his eyes still appraising her from polished boots to feathered hat.

Commander Durne and his aide waited silently, their expressions watchful.

Linsha took a deep breath, rested her hand lightly on her sword hilt, and took a plunge. “Sir, I’d like to do more. If I may serve you in some way—”

Commander Durne cut her off with a short bark of irritation. “The governor does not need ambitious female mercenaries offering vague services.”

Linsha bristled at his insinuation. “My services are strictly limited to sword and horse, Commander.”

Hogan Bight raised his hand to cut off Durne’s reply. “I appreciate your initiative, young woman. I have nothing to offer at the moment, but if you serve my city well, we will keep you in mind for the future.”

Well, she had tried. Linsha knew there was little to gain by pushing the issue. She bowed to Lord Bight and respectfully stood back to allow the men to descend the steps of the tower. At the bottom, the two officers and Lord Bight called for their horses but watched appreciatively while Linsha sprang lightly to the back of her mare.

“Do you keep your own horse?” Commander Durne asked her.

“She was a gift from my father,” Linsha replied. “I enjoy her company.”

Commander Durne mounted his own horse, a stallion similar in color and conformation to Windcatcher. “I believe
your patrol should have gone off duty at sunrise. Do you have orders to return to Sergeant Amwold?” At her affirmative reply, he waved Captain Dewald on to ride beside Lord Bight, and he reined his own horse over beside her mare. “Then accompany us back to the harbor. I would like to talk to you.”

Linsha felt her nerves go bowstring tight, though whether in wariness or anticipation, she wasn’t certain. Commander Ian Durne, captain of the governor’s personal guards and commander of the City Guards, was Lord Bight’s trusted aide and probably the second highest-ranking man in Sanction’s government. Not only was he extremely capable in his duties, but he was also well liked. Charming, charismatic, and roguishly handsome, he seemed almost too perfect sometimes to Linsha, who would have preferred someone a little less efficient and a little more approachable. His pale blue eyes had an unnerving clarity and icy acuity that made others feel as if he could strip away social facades with a mere glance. Few people could look Commander Durne in the eye for long without feeling self-conscious.

Fortunately Linsha did not have to face the test of his eyes at that moment, for the four riders were too busy guiding their horses across the busy parade ground and camp toward the East Gate.

“I apologize for my abruptness earlier,” Durne said. “We are constantly bombarded by requests for service in His Excellency’s name, and not all of the petitioners are motivated by altruism.”

His tone was light and casual, but Linsha sensed the steel behind the velvet. She snorted indelicately, like a crude mercenary with few social skills. She had toned down Lynn’s wild and crude character the past few months to make her persona more acceptable in the guards, but it didn’t hurt to maintain some of the appearance. “Petitioners like me, you mean. Cheap self-seekers looking for an extra coin, or an infiltrator from the Knights of Takhisis who’d sell his own parents for the job.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her and began to tick off more
names on his gloved hand. “Not to mention those pesky Legionnaires, the infuriating Solamnics, the minions of the black dragon, Sable, the ogres of Blöde …”

She suddenly laughed and finished the list for him. “As well as spies, pirates, con men, thieves, assassins, and snitches who would love to replace or depose or kill Lord Bight.”

“Working for Lord Bight isn’t easy. He demands courage, skill, and complete loyalty.”

“I see that. But keep me in mind anyway.”

“Why?” he demanded to know.

Linsha hesitated, searching for just the right words that would not sound too arrogant or false. She waved her hand at the city around them. “I like what he has done here. I want to see it continue.”

He nodded. “Fair enough. We will keep your offer in mind, Lynn of Gateway.”

And that, says he, is that, Linsha thought to herself. Oh, well. It was worth a try. She wiped her sweating forehead again and realized for the first time that morning how tired she was. It had been a long night on patrol. She sighed and wished she didn’t have to sit so straight on horseback. She would have liked to relax, but Commander Durne rode beside her, arrow-straight from the waist up. He was a natural rider, one of those born to sit in a saddle, and she would be fried alive before she would allow this officer to prove himself her superior on horseback.

They rode quietly for a while through the gate and into the city proper. It was midday and already growing quite hot.

“Were you born in Gateway? Or did you just take the name?” Durne asked suddenly.

Linsha’s heart skipped a beat. It was a casual question, but coming from Commander Durne, it could hold a hundred pitfalls. Assuming a casual air, she yawned and waved nonchalantly toward the north. “I was born there. Didn’t stay long, though. I felt the itch to travel. Caergoth. All around the Newsea. Khuri-Khan. Spent some time in Neraka.”

“Neraka,” he repeated. “I assumed you didn’t like the Dark Knights.”

She shrugged. “I don’t. Too many rules. Too intent on their dark goddess. If you ask me, a goddess who abandons her minions in the middle of a deadly war is not worth the spit it takes to polish her altar. No, I didn’t stay in Neraka for long.”

The commander’s mild tone continued. “How long have you been here?”

“I came over with a caravan from Khur about eight years ago.” Which was the exact truth. Linsha had learned early that the best lies were those intertwined with as much truth as possible. She cast a sideways glance at Durne’s profile and asked, “So where are you from?” She already knew from the meager Solamnic profiles on him, but she had also learned that it was safer to listen than continue to lie.

His cool blue eyes continued to scan the road ahead as he answered cryptically, “Port Balifor, before the war.”

Linsha saw a spasm of anger flit across his face. It seemed the iron commander harbored some feelings within his controlled exterior. Not that there wasn’t good reason. Durne had seen more than thirty-five years, so he was old enough to remember Port Balifor, before the Chaos War and the coming of the great dragons, when it was a peaceful, thriving port on the Bay of Balifor. The arrival of the red dragon, Malystryx, had changed all that, and now the remains of Port Balifor scraped out a poor existence under the merciless claws of the dragon overlord. She considered asking him more about it, if he had lost family or fortune in Port Balifor, but the chill of his eyes and the bitter set of his face persuaded her not to. She didn’t want to alienate the commander at this particular moment.

She was about to change the subject when the warehouses and buildings around them opened out into the teeming wharves and the shimmering smooth waters of Sanction Harbor. Activity on the waterfront had increased with the coming of midmorning, and in spite of the collision at the southern pier, several new ships had arrived and tied up at the smaller northern piers.

One, Linsha recognized, was a galley carrying passengers
from various ports in the Newsea. She knew some of the people would most likely be refugees fleeing the depredations of the great dragons and seeking new lives in the comparative freedom of Lord Bight’s domain. Refugees had been flowing into Sanction for years, forming one of the most diverse populations on Krynn. The other two ships flew the flag of Solamnia and probably carried foodstuffs to exchange for Sanction’s widely acclaimed cheeses, volcanic products, and wool.