The sergeant opened the door to the tavern in Valdo and stepped into the dimly-lit room. He paused for a moment to let his eyes adjust to the darkness as he scanned the tables looking for a likely target. As was customary, many of the patrons glanced towards the door to see who had entered the establishment. More than a few eyes lingered on the newcomer far longer than necessary to determine if a friend had arrived. Some of the patrons noted the long, nasty scar that ran from the sergeant’s temple to his jaw. Others smiled knowingly at the sergeant’s full beard, recognizing it as an obvious attempt to lessen the visual impact of the man’s scarred flesh. There was a twinge of sympathy from some, but most were apathetic to the sergeant’s misfortune. But it was neither the scar nor the beard that set the sergeant apart from a normal visitor to the tavern. It was the patch on his uniform. The patch of the 15th Corps of Ertak was seldom seen in the city of Valdo. In fact, there had always been a bit of a rivalry between the soldiers of Spino and those of Ertak.
The sergeant ignored the stares, and locked his eyes on a table where two corporals belonging to Spino’s 21st Corps sat talking quietly. He made his way across the room and sat across the table from the two corporals. The men were among those few who had not bothered to gaze upon the newcomer, and they were so deep into their discussion that they did not even acknowledge the sergeant’s arrival at their table. The sergeant sat quietly, listening to the conversation that centered on the coming war. He did not offer his own thoughts. Indeed, he purposely appeared not to be listening, a man lost in his own thoughts. The serving girl came by, and the sergeant ordered a pitcher of mountain ale. That simple act caught the attention of his two table-mates. The corporals looked across the table, seemingly noticing the sergeant for the first time.
“Gold to burn?” asked one of the corporals.
“What’s an Ertakan doing in Valdo?” asked the other.
The sergeant raised his eyes from the table to look at the two corporals. He smiled thinly at their comments.
“Valdo has always had the best ale,” he commented. “Besides, the gold is not mine. Why shouldn’t I enjoy the best?”
The serving girl returned with the pitcher of special ale and set it down on the table. The sergeant filled his mug and casually waved towards the pitcher.
“You are welcome to share my ale if you wish,” he offered.
The two corporals looked at each another with skeptical expressions.
“What’s the catch?” one of the corporals asked.
“No catch,” smiled the sergeant. “I travel frequently from Farmin to Despair, and the colonel gives me a generous travel allowance. I always try to stop in Valdo on the way through. Drink up and enjoy yourselves.”
Both of the corporals smiled broadly and filled their mugs.
“We don’t often meet friendly Ertakans,” offered one of the corporals. “Be careful or you will spoil your country’s reputation.”
The sergeant laughed and nodded. “Truth be told, I was born in the Bloodwood. It might have been on the Ertak side of the border, but not by much. I probably have more in common with the men of Spino than my own countrymen. Ertakans actually think the Dark Forest is beautiful. They have never enjoyed a good romp in the Bloodwood.”
“Here, here,” one of the corporals heartily agreed.
“What takes you to Despair so often?” asked the other corporal.
“Intelligence,” the sergeant answered. “General Montero wants to be kept up-to-date on the Alceans. He doesn’t like surprises in the field.”
“Really?” the corporal responded with interest. “So you know a lot about Alcea and what it is like? Can you share what Despair has told you?”
The sergeant frowned heavily and hesitated to answer.
“You can’t be asking the sergeant things like that,” scolded the other corporal. “You’ll get him in trouble. Drink his ale and be happy.”
The sergeant sighed and smiled slightly. “The truth is, Despair has little to offer about Alcea. I carry a lot of information about troop strength and matters concerning the disposition of the 15th Corps, and I cannot speak of that, but they say little about Alcea.”
“Perhaps they don’t know much about it,” suggested one of the corporals. “I heard they sent some colonels there just a little while ago.”
“That is true,” replied the sergeant, “but they were not the first scouts we sent to Alcea. I spent over a year in Alcea, and that was two years ago. We have been planning this invasion for some time.”
“Really?” one of the corporals asked excitedly. “Tell us about it.”
Again the sergeant hesitated, but this time the other corporal did not interrupt with any admonishments about the need for secrecy. When the sergeant still hesitated, the first corporal pushed further.
“Two years ago is a long time. Surely, there can be no reason for secrecy at this point. Tell us about Alcea. What are their armies like?”
“And their women?” chuckled the other corporal. “What are they like?”
The sergeant made a point of glancing around the room to see if anyone else was listening to the conversation. While there was no one else listening, his gesture accomplished what he had desired. Both corporals were suddenly aware that they were about to become privy to something secret.
“Their armies are small, but formidable,” the sergeant said softly. “Our generals will stress the small part of that, but we are in for a fight when we get there. The Alceans are a warlike people. Remember, Alcea is about the same size as all of Zara, and it is a single country. That didn’t happen peacefully. Think about the years of warfare something like that would require right here in Zara.”
“The Federation almost covers the entire continent,” frowned one of the corporals. “Isn’t that the same thing?”
“Hardly,” scoffed the sergeant. “The rulers here in Zara are meek compared to the Alceans. They fought bloody wars over there for years. About four years ago, they ended the last war. Hundreds of thousands of soldiers from all over the continent were pitted against one another. Say what you will about the Alceans, but they know how to fight. Even if we do outnumber them, they will give us a decent challenge.”
“Well, we are up for any challenge,” boasted one of the corporals. “The world has never seen an army the size of the Federation. Nothing can stand in our way.”
“I would agree with that,” sighed the sergeant, “if it were not for…”
The sergeant suddenly stopped talking and looked around the room again. He returned his eyes to his mug of ale and stared into it. Several long moments passed by in silence. Eventually, the corporals could not stand the silence.
“Were not for what?” probed one of the corporals.
The sergeant looked up and stared blankly into the face of the questioning corporal. He did not speak.
“Yeah, what is it that you fear to talk about?” pushed the other corporal.
The sergeant’s eyes flicked towards the questioning corporal and then glanced around the room again.
“You will not repeat what I am about to say,” the sergeant said in a soft, but stern voice. “If the officers hear you repeat my words, they will take steps to punish you severely. There are some things about Alcea that they do not want the soldiers to know.”
“We will keep your words to ourselves,” promised one of the soldiers.
The sergeant sighed and hesitated again, but eventually he leaned towards the corporals and spoke softly.
“Beware the dwarves!
One of the corporals blinked as if not believing his ears. “What? What are you talking about? There are no dwarves. There haven’t been any for hundreds of years.”
“He’s playing with us,” the other corporal offered, his voice wavering between humor and fear.
“No one in Zara has seen dwarves for hundreds of years,” the sergeant continued, “but in Alcea it is different. There the dwarves have flourished, and they are the most ferocious of opponents. If you learn nothing else from our chance meeting, learn this. Beware the dwarves!”
“How bad can they be?” asked one of the corporals. “There are only so many things you can do with a sword, and the 21st Corps has many a good swordsman. I don’t think we need to fear dwarf or man. We will have the numbers to overpower anything they can throw at us.”
“Dwarves do not fight with swords,” corrected the sergeant. “They throw axes that will split your armored head in two, but their main weapon is the battleaxe, and most humans couldn’t even lift one. It is a fearsome weapon that can cleave a horse in two, but even worse is their armor. Dwarven armor is magically enchanted to withstand the mightiest blows. Try as you might, you just can’t harm the dwarves. They wade into your ranks, swinging those huge battleaxes around, and there is nothing you can do but run.”
“Surely, that is an exaggeration?” posed one of the corporals.
“I do not think so,” the sergeant replied with a slight shaking of his head. “The stories told in Alcean cities are that King Arik counted each of his dwarves as one hundred men. I didn’t believe those stories at first, but they were repeated in every major city in Alcea. Still skeptical, I visited one of the war burial grounds and asked to see a dwarven tomb. The groundskeeper laughed at me as if I was making a joke. When I assured him that I was serious, he explained to me that not a single dwarf had died during the Great War.”
“A hundred to one?” gasped one of the corporals. “Ten dwarves could take on a whole company? A hundred dwarves could defeat an entire army? I cannot imagine a creature so invincible.”
The sergeant remained silent, his grim face giving credence to the warning. He could see the fear rising across the table from him, and he knew that it was time to move on. He waited patiently for the question that he knew would eventually be asked.
“I hope we don’t run into any of them,” the other corporal said, his voice quaking with fear. “Which lands over there are dwarven?”
“The dwarves are usually found in Sordoa,” answered the sergeant, “just south of Trekum.”
The corporals swallowed hard and stared at each other in alarm.
“That is where we are going!” exclaimed one of the corporals.
Zackary Nolan nodded sympathetically and stood to take his leave. His message was meant explicitly for the men of the 21st Corps, and he smiled inwardly having delivered it properly. He leaned down and whispered once more before turning and leaving.
“Beware the dwarves!”
The sergeant left the tavern and headed for another to continue sowing fear of the dwarves, dwarves that he knew would one day soon be pitted against the men of the 21st Corps. The sergeant had only walked two blocks before a young corporal from the 15th Corps fell in alongside him. The young corporal was one of Zack’s Zaran confederates, and he was also spreading fear about the dwarves.
“How did it go?” the sergeant asked the corporal.
“It went well,” grinned Bork. “By morning the whole garrison will be talking furtively about the possibility of going up against the dwarves.”
“As long as the tales do not make their way to the ears of the officers,” cautioned Zack. “You did warn them that their officers would punish them?”
“I did,” Bork assured the Alcean spymaster.
“Excellent,” smiled the sergeant. “Be off with you to another tavern.”
“There is something else that requires your attention this night,” stated Bork without breaking away from the sergeant’s side. “Cobb thinks he has found that special someone that you have been looking for.”
“Oh?” Zack halted and turned to face the corporal. “Tell me about it.”
Bork looked around to see if anyone was within hearing before speaking softly.
“The man is a sergeant in the 16th Corps under General Vladin. He makes numerous trips into the Royal Palace as part of his duties.”
“That works for the plan,” stated Zack. “What is the hook?”
“He has a gambling problem,” answered Bork, “a big gambling problem. He has been borrowing gold out of the paymaster’s funds when no one is looking. He has always managed to replace the stolen funds before the soldiers returned from the field, but things have gotten out of hand. He lost big today, and tonight he learned that the soldiers will be returning tomorrow, several days ahead of schedule. He does not have the gold to replace what he stole.”
The Alcean spymaster frowned as he stared at the ground. Bork knew Zachary well enough not to interrupt. He waited patiently for Zack to contemplate the next move.
“He must have been drunk to share that information with Cobb,” Zachary eventually said. “Stealing from the paymaster earns a very public hanging in the Federation.”
“He is very drunk,” admitted Bork, “and very scared, but you taught Cobb and me well. The man holds a slim hope that Cobb can come up with a plan to save his neck.”
“How much does he need?” asked Zack.
“Five thousand.”
Zack whistled softly. “Our thief has expensive habits. That is actually a plus. It shows that he has been living on the edge for some time without getting caught. He must be fairly good at hiding his emotions. Take me to him.”
Bork nodded and led the sergeant through the streets of the city until they came to the Journey’s Rest Inn, a modest inn for the budget conscious traveler. Zachary had rented rooms there for his military persona, while he also had rooms at the Greystone Inn for his Lord Zachary persona. Bork led the spymaster up the rear stairs and knocked softly on the door to Cobb’s room. Cobb immediately opened the door and admitted his two confederates.
Sitting on the couch was a rumpled sergeant wearing the patch of the 16th Corps. He rose unsteadily as the two men entered the room, fear etched into his face. Zachary smiled at the man and crossed the room. He sat in a chair facing the couch and waved for the man to sit down.
“I understand that you have a problem,” opened Zachary. “I might be able to help you, but my help doesn’t come without conditions.”
The Spinoan sergeant swayed unsteadily and sort of fell into a sitting position on the couch, his head turning from side to side trying his best to focus on the new arrivals.
“I will not deal with a drunk,” scowled Zachary. “Get this man sobered up.”
“I have been trying,” sighed Cobb as he shoved another cup of coffee at the drunk sergeant.
Zack stood and removed his pack. As he rummaged through the pack he ordered Bork to get some cold water and an empty bucket. The former caravan warrior returned moments later with two buckets, one filled with icy cold water. Zack took the empty bucket from Bork’s hands and handed it to the drunk sergeant.
“Hold that between your knees,” Zachary scowled at the drunk, “and swallow this.”
Zachary roughly tilted the man’s head back and poured the contents of a small envelope into the man’s mouth. He grabbed the cup of coffee from the table and poured enough into the man’s mouth to make him swallow. The drunk sergeant offered no resistance. Zack released the man’s head and stepped back. He walked to the door leading to the corridor and motioned for his men to gather around him.
“I am going to another tavern for a while,” Zachary said softly to his two comrades. “When he vomits, make sure it gets into the bucket. When he is done, toss half the bucket of water into his face and use the rest to clean up. One of you come get me when he is sober enough to talk. I will not be far away.”
The Alcea spymaster left the room and headed for the closest tavern that catered to soldiers. He had no success in getting anyone to talk about Alcea and decided to try yet another tavern, but Bork found him when he stepped out onto the street. The two men returned to the Journey’s Rest Inn. Zack eyed the Spinoan sergeant and found the man glaring back at him.
“I’m sure glad you are not one of my normal drinking friends,” growled the Spinoan. “What was that stuff you forced down my throat?”
“I do not drink with thieves,” Zachary shot back, “especially thieves that talk freely when they are drunk.”
The Spinoan sergeant rose to his feet, anger and fear forcing the drunkenness from his mind.
“I thought I was talking to a friend, but obviously I was wrong.” He turned and glared threateningly at Cobb as he started making his way towards the door to leave the room.
“Sit!” Zachary commanded with an authoritative tone. “If I wanted you dead, I merely had to report your little indiscretion to the paymaster. I am sure that there would have been a reward for such a deed.”
The Spinoan sergeant hesitated and glanced at the Ertakan sergeant.
“Why didn’t you report me?”
“I can make your troubles go away,” Zachary replied with slight smile. “Sit down,” he said in a softer tone.
The Spinoan sergeant stood unmoving for a moment and then returned to the couch and sat down. Zachary reached into his purse and extracted five one-thousand-gold coins and placed them on the table. The Spinoan’s eyes widened at the sight of the small fortune sitting on the table. His eyes darted around the room as if to gauge the potential for grabbing the coins and bolting out the door. With a sigh, he nodded and returned his attention to Zachary.
“Who do I have to kill?”
“I will get to that in a moment,” replied Zack. “What is your name?”
“Batt,” answered the Spinoan, “Sergeant Batt, 16th Corps.”
“I have been told that five-thousand will save you from the hangman, is that correct?”
“That’s the truth of it,” sighed Batt, “but I don’t know about killing someone to get the gold. I am a soldier, not an assassin.”
“Well,” shrugged Zachary, “that is your choice, but I am not giving you the gold just to be friendly. If you take my money, you will do as I say, or you will die a most painful death. If you have any intention of trying to cheat me, hanging would be the much wiser path for you to take.”
“Not saying that I would even think of cheating you,” probed Sergeant Batt, “but I can’t help noticing your Ertakan patches. You can’t possibly believe that you would ever find me if I chose to hide in this city. I would only have to hide until your unit is called up for the war.”
“I won’t be going to Alcea,” smiled Zachary. “I am on special detail to the Royal Palace in Farmin. As for finding you, I would have no trouble at all. I have probably spent as much time in Valdo as you have. Besides, with enough gold, I can buy anything, including the location of your hiding spot.”
“If you had enough gold,” Batt grudgingly conceded. “You can buy anything in Valdo with gold, even friends.”
Zachary reached into his purse and placed another five one-thousand-gold coins on the table. Batt’s eyes widened at the show of wealth.
“That will be your bonus for completing the task assigned to you. It is enough money to take you wherever you want to go, but you will not receive the second pile until you have been successful.”
“Ten thousand in gold?” joked Sergeant Batt. “What do you want me to do, kill the queen?”
No one laughed at the joke, and Sergeant Batt suddenly felt a knot in the pit of his stomach. He started shaking his head vigorously.
“Forget it! I may be a thief, but I am not a raving lunatic. That would be suicide. Forget it! I might as well be hanged now and get it over with.”
“You have access to the Royal Palace,” Zack said softly. “You can do it and get away easily.”
“Easily?” balked Batt. “Are you crazy? Do you have any idea what security is like around the queen?”
“Actually,” smiled Zack, “I do know. If I had easy access to the palace, I would not be here talking to you. I would just do it myself. I can tell you how to do it, when to do it, and most importantly, how to get away with it.”
Sergeant Batt’s gaze alternated between the door and the piles of gold. The wealth on the table eventually intrigued him enough that he chose to stay.
“Tell me how I can do this and get away with it.”
Zack smiled and revealed his plan. While the Spinoan was initially skeptical, he soon started nodding in agreement to the plan. Several hours later, Sergeant Batt picked up his gold and an Ertakan military patch and left the room. Zachary took the second pile of coins and returned them to his purse.
“I don’t get it,” frowned Bork. “I can’t possibly see Batt getting away with this. Oh, you made it sound easy, but I know from earlier discussions with you that things will not go as smoothly as you laid them out. Why waste the five-thousand in gold?”
“We can’t lose on this one,” chuckled Zachary Nolan. “There are only three possible outcomes. If he succeeds, we pick up our things and move on to Ertak. If he tries and fails, Queen Samir will have him tortured only to learn that the Ertakans hired him to assassinate the queen.”
“What if he just never even tries?” asked Bork.
“Then we feed enough information to Queen Samir to have Sergeant Batt arrested and interrogated. It will produce the same effect as if he had tried and failed.”
“So the only way he gets to live is if he is successful?” asked Cobb.
“No,” Zack shook his head. “If he succeeds, we let General Vladin know who the assassin was. We want Spino blaming the assassination on Ertak. Sergeant Batt was already a dead man when you found him, Cobb. All we have done is made his death serve a purpose.”