Lieutenant-Colonel Shandimar, Shakkar and Sergeant Erik sat at the head of a long table in the Guardhouse. The room was bare, forbidding and cold.
The fourteenth and last man marched into the room, to Erik's shouted commands:
"Left! Right! Left! Right! Halt! Ten-shut!"
"Salute!"
To his credit, faced as he was by the exposed, steak-knife fangs of Shakkar, the guard did not tremble. He maintained a rigid pose of attention, despite his pale face. He was short but stocky, and his chest protruded like a ship's prow.
"Private Embral, reporting as ordered, Sir!” he yelled.
"Off cap… stand at… ease!” Erik, shouted the last word in an almost a falsetto squeak. Embral adjusted his position; his feet now apart by the width of his shoulders and his arms behind his back. Shakkar felt puzzled by the term ‘stand at ease'-the guard appeared anything but relaxed.
"You are attached to the Gate detail, I understand, Private?” Shandimar said in a bored voice.
"That's right, Sir! Third watch, midnight ‘til seven, Sir!” the man yelled at a volume phenomenal from such a short person.
The Colonel winced, and rubbed his brow. “All right, Private; stand easy."
The hapless man relaxed his stance-just a little. His eyes still stared ahead, and his attention seemed to be focused entirely on the wall behind Shandimar.
"Do you know why you are here, Private?"
"No, Sir!” The slight hesitancy in the watchman's words implied to Shakkar either falsehood or unease. The demon had dealt with many humans in his time, and he could often tell wariness or deception when he heard it.
"Good.” Shandimar consulted his notes. After a few moments’ rumination, he looked up again.
"Relax, Private, you're not on trial here. We are just investigating an incident that may or may not have taken place, and all we want is a few truthful answers from you. You have not been singled out in any way-do you understand?"
"Yes, Sir. I think so, Sir,” the sentry gabbled. “I sort of guessed as much when I saw the other-"
"That'll do, Private!” Erik snapped, his face red. “'Yes, Sir’ is quite enough; we don't want your bloody life story! The next thing you-"
Shandimar waved his right hand. “Thank you, Sergeant. Private Embral, can you state that, to your certain knowledge, the Main Gate was not opened at any time during your watch?"
"No, Sir… I mean, yes, Sir.” The soldier's wary gaze flicked between the Colonel and the Sergeant. “I mean, it wasn't opened at all, Sir! Me an’ Volan was there all the time, Sir, and it wasn't never opened, Sir!"
Erik opened his mouth to speak again, but Shandimar silenced the Sergeant with a sharp look.
"Now, that's not quite true, is it, Private? I'm afraid Private Volan's testimony does not agree with yours.” The senior officer's tone was deceptively mild.
The soldier's eyes bulged, as if he knew he had been caught out in a lie. “I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Sir!” he protested.
Shandimar consulted his voluminous notes once more. “Private Volan's statement claims that you were not present for the whole of your assigned watch, Private. It states that you vacated your post at approximately five minutes past two this morning, and were absent from your post for thirty minutes or so. What do you have to say about that, Private?"
Embral's eyes narrowed. “That bastard, Volan, said that? I'll bloody kill him! I'll nail the sod to the freakin’ floor! I'll-"
The Sergeant's brows lowered, and he screamed “Just answer the Colonel's question, Private! Were you or were you not absent when you were supposed to be on duty?"
The wretched guard shuffled on his feet. “Well, Sir, I'd ‘ad this bad meat pie, and I just ‘ad to go an’ relieve meself, see…"
Erik surged to his feet, pointing at Embral with an accusing finger. “You dare give us the lie to our faces? We know bloody well where you were, sonny boy! Thirty-two, Candle Street! Do I need to say any more?"
The guard slumped, and his once-taut face hung in slack folds.
"I'm sorry, Sir,” he whispered, looking to Shandimar for succour that did not come. “See, me an’ Volan… we-"
"You deserted your bloody post!” Erik screamed, bouncing on his toes. “You left the cussed gate half unguarded an’ risked some light-fingered trollop makin’ off with your bloody key! I ought to-"
"Is this true, Private?” Shandimar seemed to be in the mood for interruption today, as he fixed the wriggling man with a stern gaze. “The truth, now!"
Embral regarded the Colonel with pleading eyes. “I did go to… that place, Sir,” he whispered. “But I didn't dare risk me key, Sir, I swear! Please believe me!"
"How so, Private?” Shandimar demanded. “How do you know your joy-girl didn't take it off you while you were… otherwise engaged?"
"Because I got Private Ludin to stand in for me, Sir!” Embral's face was suffused with red. “He owes me a favour, so I called him up an’ gave him me key, Sir! Didn't that bastard-sorry, Sir-didn't Private Volan tell you that?"
"That'll be all, Embral.” The Colonel's eyes were like slits. “You're on report, and I'll let Sergeant Erik decide your punishment. Just count yourself bloody lucky that I don't convene a court-martial right now! I could have your head for this. The next time I hear of anything like this, your feet won't touch the ground! Is that understood? I asked you a question, Private! Is that understood?"
"Yes, Sir! Thank you, Sir!"
"Report to the Stockade, Private!” Erik snapped. “I'll deal with you later, you little sod! You'll rue the bloody day you were born, I promise you! On cap! Ten-shut! Salute! About turn! Double… march!"
The Private sped from the room as if his feet were on fire.
Shakkar growled, “I do not think much of your so-called guards, Colonel. That is the third man to own up to absenting himself from his post; to admit to whoring or carousing during his duty period. How many others have managed to escape without incriminating themselves?"
"With all due respect, Lord Seneschal,” Shandimar drawled. “I don't think that's the point. Yes, these men have flouted their duty, and they will be punished for it. However, in mitigation, each of the absent sentries persuaded a fellow watchman to stand in for him. At no time was the Tower, or the Gate, left unguarded. Whatever else we know, Lady Drexelica did not leave the city by normal means, which leaves-"
"Sorcery,” the demon hissed. “Some magic-user has spirited her away."
"Why? Any ideas, Sergeant?"
"Me, Sir?” Erik scratched his forehead, as if this might stimulate his powers of thought. “Perhaps some mage has a grudge against Lord Grimm and took the lady by mistake, Sir."
Shakkar shook his head. He knew Lady Drexelica and Baron Grimm were lovers, but he ensured that the fact had been concealed from most of the populace of Crar, knowing the dim view the Guild took of its mages consorting with females.
"I will impart information to you; information that must not leave this room,” he said. “I wish you to swear on whatever you hold most dear that you will not breathe a word of it to anybody else."
"I swear in the name of the One God that I shall never repeat what you tell me,” Shandimar intoned, raising his right hand in affirmation.
"I swear on the grave of my mother that I won't say a thing, Lord Seneschal,” Erik said, his face solemn.
Shakkar cleared his throat. “Lord Grimm and the Lady Drexelica are… very good friends,” he muttered.
Erik frowned. “Is that all? Then why did the Lord Baron…"
"The Guild does not approve of such relationships,” the Seneschal snapped. “It would be the worse for our Baron if such news were to become common knowledge."
"Then this might not be a mistake,” the Colonel said. “This rogue mage may be striking directly at Lord Grimm."
"Perhaps not a mage, Colonel,” Shakkar said. “Perhaps this is an act of Geomancy: witch magic."
Shandimar shrugged. “I have met many witches in my time, Lord Seneschal, all honest, decent women as far as I can tell. In addition to their good characters, none of them could hope to compare to a Guild Mage in terms of power. What kind of witch could or would do such a thing?"
"A very powerful and evil one, Colonel.” Shakkar felt suspicion coalescing into a solid lump of certainty inside him. “I suspect her name is Prioress Lizaveta, and Lord Grimm is on his way to her demesnes as we speak. Lady Drexelica, no doubt, has been taken as some kind of hostage; we must warn the Baron somehow."
Shandimar's expression hardened. “Do you know this witch-Prioress’ whereabouts, Lord Seneschal?"
"No, Colonel. I know only the party's first port of call: they were to seek out information as to the Prioress’ whereabouts in the town of Yoren."
"Yoren!” The Sergeant's eyes bulged. “Sorry, Sir,” he said in a hurry, with an apologetic glance at the Colonel.
"That's all right, Sergeant. You may speak freely for the rest of this meeting. And forget the ‘Sir’ for the moment."
"Yes, Sir…” Erik trailed off for a moment but then carried on. “Yoren's a very rough town, and no mistake. I can't say I know it well, but do I know the region. It's a pretty wild and lawless part of the world, but Yoren has a particular reputation for nastiness even there."
"Where might they go from there?” Shandimar asked him.
Erik scratched his head again. “Anyor, Lufeth, Brianston… the list's endless. They could be anywhere now. You'd need a seer or a mage to find them."
"We could try to find out just where this witch's Priory is, Sergeant. Cut out the towns in between."
Shakkar shook his head. “No, Colonel. General Quelgrum sent out parties of runners to try to find out before he left with Lord Grimm, all to no avail. I suggest that the Sergeant's proposal is our best option."
"What proposal?” Erik asked.
"Your proposal to find a seer or a mage to locate the party, Sergeant,” Shakkar said. “I suggest we try to find help at Baron Grimm's Guild House, in Arnor."
The Colonel looked bemused. “I wasn't briefed on much about the Baron's Quest, Lord Seneschal, but I was given to understand that Arnor House was to learn nothing about it."
"We do not go to the front door and ask for help from the Prelate, idiot!” Shakkar, aware of his growing anger at what he perceived as the obtuseness of these humans, fought to bring his rising ire under some control.
He continued in a softer voice, “I apologise for that, gentlemen. Grimm has a friend there; a Questor Dalquist, whom I have met in person. If we were to get word to him, I am sure he would use all his powers to help his brother Questor."
"Is this Dalquist a Seer?” Shandimar asked.
"No, Colonel; but Questors can cast many kinds of spells. He is resourceful and might find a way."
"Well, I can't go,” the Colonel declared. “My sworn duty is to safeguard the people of Crar."
"Well, you do not seem to be doing a very good job of that, do you, Colonel?"
Shakkar knew he had let his stem-brain take control of him once more as the words escaped his mouth. This time, it cost him considerable effort to slake his hot ire.
"I am… sorry, Colonel,” he said in a gruff voice. “That was… unkind of me."
"Think nothing of it, Lord Seneschal.” The officer's expression suggested that he was anything but mollified by the demon's outburst. “What, may I ask, do you intend?"
"I will go to Arnor House with Sergeant Erik. I will wait at a safe distance while the Sergeant, dressed as a labourer, reports to the tradesmen's entrance. As I understand it, the Mage Doorkeeper should come to greet him. I have not met the man, but Lord Grimm speaks fondly of him. I am sure that this man, Doorkeeper, can be relied upon to pass on a message to Questor Dalquist without revealing our purpose. We will wait for the mage to tell us whatever he can and then use the most expedient method to reach Questor Grimm and his party."
Shandimar nodded slowly. At last, he said, “Very well, Lord Seneschal. Sergeant Erik, consider yourself on detached duty. I'll give you a chit for the Armoury. Take whatever weapons you feel you need, as long as they don't slow you down. And get some civilian clothes from the stores."
The Sergeant saluted smartly."Yes, Sir!” The grin on his face suggested he was far from downcast.
The Colonel turned to the demon. “When were you thinking of leaving, Lord Seneschal?"
Shakkar grinned, exposing his long fangs. “To borrow a human expression, Colonel, ‘there is no time like the present'. We will leave at once."
"Don't I even have time to take breakfast?” Erik said in a slightly plaintive voice.
"Very well,” Shakkar growled. “I give you an hour to make your preparations; then, we leave."
The Sergeant stood, came to attention and saluted. “With your permission, Sir?"
"Yes, yes, Sergeant,” the officer replied. “Do get on with it."
"Yes, Sir!"
The soldier marched out of the room with a military precision that impressed even the irascible demon.
"I see I may have misjudged the man,” Shakkar said as the door slammed shut. “He seems to be a good soldier."
"You may not believe it, Lord Seneschal, but they're all good soldiers, and until recently they have lived exclusively in a military base, free from all temptation. Guarding a town and pussy-footing around civilians is not an ideal assignment for such soldiers; they're men of action, first and foremost. You can rely on Sergeant Erik. Don't worry; he'll support you all the way."
"It is not that which causes me to worry,” Shakkar said. “I just hope that this witch is not mistreating Lady Drexelica. I have come to… to respect her."
Shandimar laughed. “It's bad policy to mistreat hostages. I'm sure she'll be all right, you'll see."
Lizaveta regarded Sister Melana with some amusement. The nun's thin face was haggard and grey; she looked exhausted. Nonetheless, her habit seemed immaculate and faultless, even at this late hour.
How does the little tart still manage to stay upright? she wondered. I've been running her to the bone! Still, in a few more days we'll see a new Melana, I'm sure; a contrite and obedient one. I'll show her who runs this Priory!
"Do sit down, Sister,” she crooned, motioning to a comfortable chair opposite her divan. “You look shattered."
"Thank you, Reverend Mother.” Melana collapsed into the chair with a distinct lack of Holy Modesty.
Lizaveta suppressed a smile. “I'm sorry that I have no sweetmeats or viands waiting for you; the hour is late, after all. How goes our new Supplicant?"
"She is wilful, Reverend Mother. She has power, but she seems to choose not to use it."
"Are you sure, Sister? Is she resisting you wilfully, or is she just confused?"
"I don't know, Reverend Mother,” Melana confessed, rubbing her brow with a trembling hand as she sat slumped in the chair. “She makes all the right responses, and she obeys me without question now. She keeps proper custody of the eyes, and she keeps her robes in good order. I can tell she has power, and she has a witch's aura."
"You mean, I imagine, Sister, that she has no aura."
"Yes, Reverend Mother; I apologise. She lacks an aura, but she does not attempt to draw power from the earth, as far as I can tell. I know she has only ever mended pots and healed minor wounds, but I have taught her a lot, to no avail. She must be resisting me."
The Prioress regarded the Sister with some respect. From the flickering of Melina's eyelids, she could tell the nun was fighting the urgent need for sleep with every fibre of her being. Nonetheless, she endured. It would be almost a shame to heap further privations on her…
"Very well, Sister; the Supplicant will undergo a full day of Penance of the Second Grade, and you are to oversee her. Wake her in two hours, and be sure to let her know our disapproval. Let her know why she is being punished."
Even in her semi-comatose state, Melana managed to jerk herself upright, her eyes bulging. “Reverend Mother, I must protest!” she cried, her voice harsh and rasping. “I cannot maintain focus and a clear head on one or two hours’ sleep a night!"
"Mind your manners, Sister!” Lizaveta snapped. “Remember who you are addressing!"
Melana's bloodshot eyes met those of her Prioress. “I intended no disrespect, Reverend Mother,” she croaked. “But I need sleep badly!"
Lizaveta smiled. Give with one hand, and take away with the other. It's time to play Lady Bountiful.
"Very well,” she said. “Although I am a little distressed at your lack of fortitude… you were about to speak, Sister?"
"No, Reverend Mother.” The words came through clenched teeth.
"Good. You may have eight hours of sleep, Sister."
"Thank you, Reverend Mother!"
The Prioress regarded the stunned expression on the Sister's face with some satisfaction. “In two-hour steps, that is: two hours with the Supplicant, followed by two hours’ sleep. The Novices may tend her while you lounge in your bed."
Go on, girl; just you dare to remonstrate with me! Lizaveta watched a complex range of expressions flood across the nun's face in succession: initial rage, self-doubt, fear, and finally, acceptance of her lot.
"Thank you, Reverend Mother, for having mercy on my human frailty,” Melina said, lowering her eyes. “May I leave?"
"Of course, Sister. Please, do take some rest. Just bear in mind that I want results from this little slut as soon as possible. Fail me, and you'll find that many hungry Novices will be only too eager to take your place in the Score; Novices you've abused over the years.
"Just think how they'll treat you, then."
The Prioress waited to see if Melana was willing to remonstrate now, but the rebellious tart seemed to have more sense than she had thought.
"Thank you, Reverend Mother,” the nun said at last, bowing and staggering out of the room like a drunkard.
Lizaveta yawned and stretched like a cat. I'll have two willing slaves out of this little exercise, she thought. Either that, or a slave and an example to anybody else who thinks she is above the Rule.
She walked from the bare, forbidding room to her sumptuous bedchamber; a room that only her trusted, mute body-servants ever saw.
One of the speechless maids slipped from under the vast feather bed and made to undress the Prioress, while another scuttled over to a cherry-wood armoire and withdrew a silk night-dress. A third girl began to comb her white tresses, and another stood ready with water, soap and sponge.
Once prepared for her night's sleep, the Prioress slipped into the soft, yielding bed. The pale maids slotted themselves underneath it, like obedient, animated toys putting themselves back into their box.
Lizaveta slept with a smile on her face, her dreams pleasant and untroubled.
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