Arm Of Galemar (Book 2) (85 page)

“A chirurgeon?” Dietrik asked.  “Are they dividing up
the medical corps among the different stations this time, then?”

The annoyance on Glynn’s face deepened.  “A
Healer
,”
he enunciated.  “Not a
chirurgeon
.  And I am hardly privy to the
decisions made by the knight-marshal,” he added, in a tone that clearly stated
his assignment here was a bitter matter.  “Now, I must find my…my
bunk
,
and see to my duties.”

Dietrik called after Glynn when the man followed
Riley’s footsteps, “Welcome to the border then, Glynn Allegra Eyollandish!  It
is a great comfort to have a genuine Healer close at hand!”

“The Third!” echoed Glynn’s voice from the entryway.

Dietrik clapped a hand to his forehead and chuckled
merrily.  “I knew he would say that.  What’s under your skin?”

Marik gazed down at the parcel in his hand, eyes
narrowing further with each moment that passed.  He disliked this strange
delivery, disliked the hand his name was written in and disliked the feel of
the object within the vellum wrapping.  His speculations with Dietrik had not
included this, but he felt a cold certainty creeping over him the longer he
stared.

He rotated it so Dietrik could read the few words. 
“You see that?”

“
Delivery direct to Marik Railson, Crimson Kings
Detachment under Baron Atcheron
,” Dietrik read aloud.  “They certainly knew
where to find you.”

“Yes, didn’t they.”

“A female ‘they’, at that.  No man I have ever seen
scribing wrote with such an elegant hand.  Is this a token from your lady
love?”

“Not hardly!  But I’m willing to bet I know the lady
who wrote it,” he declared, teeth grinding.  “How convenient that we suddenly
have a Healer close by, isn’t it?”

“Mate?  I don’t follow you.”

“And a true Healer at that!  Straight from the court,
unless I’m completely wrong!”  He untied the twine and pulled at the vellum. 
“The knight-marshal, is it?” he muttered, ignoring Dietrik’s inquiries.  “I bet
he had as much to do with assigning mister
the Third
to us as he does
with deciding which horse the captain will ride tomorrow.”

Inside the vellum wrappings, he found the shape he had
felt.  It was a mirror, as he’d thought.  A small hand mirror suited to ladies
at a tea party, round, a six-inch handle and silver framework.  He tossed it to
Dietrik without much care if his friend saved it from a shattering fall.

Dietrik juggled for it while Marik unfolded the
parchment that had also been inside with the mirror.  The writing was the same
feminine hand.

Without established supply lines fronting Tullainia,
communications will be tougher than during the Nolier war.  If orders must
reach your region quickly, they will be passed through this mirror, and we
expect you to pass on any urgent developments in your area.

This mirror has an established affinity with my own. 
Simply set the energies in place without contaminating them with conflicting
intentions.  The seeker will naturally want to establish a connection to my
mirror unless forced otherwise.

-Celerity Ridgecomb

Chief Mage of the Royal Enclave

“Gods damn it!” Marik cursed vehemently, grasping the
parchment and making ready to rip it into shreds.

“Whoa there, mate!  Hold up!”  Dietrik clasped his
wrists, stopping Marik from indulging his anger.  “What is the matter?”

“This,” Marik hissed through clenched teeth.  “
This
bald-faced lie!”  He threw the note into Dietrik’s face.

Dietrik, seeing the raw fury in Marik’s expression,
held onto the mirror.  He plucked the fluttering note from the air and read. 
“I assume that all makes perfect sense among mages, but I don’t see her challenging
you to a deathmatch duel.”

“It’s horseshit, Dietrik!  Lines of communication? 
I’ll tell you what she wants!  She hasn’t been able to find my father or this
red-eyed man she’s so convinced knows what’s going on!  Until she does, I’ll
always be her strongest link to him.  She wants me to run and tell her if I
find him or somehow scrye him again, and she must have pulled strings to have a
Healer dogging my steps.  She intends to make sure I stay alive until she
doesn’t need me any longer!  She even
said
as much the last time I saw
her!”

Dietrik listened, the folded note tapping his lips. 
After a silent moment, he clucked his tongue and mused, “Her deeper intentions
aside, are you going to turn your nose up at having your own personal Healer
stowed in your pack?”

“Personal Healer?  He’s assigned to the whole squad. 
Or to Atcheron, actually, I suppose.”

“If you have the right of it, then Mistress Celerity
probably gave him orders to watch out for you in particular.”

“Probably,” Marik grumbled.  He glared at the mirror
when Dietrik handed it back to him.  “But I don’t like how the ‘Chief Mage of
the Royal Enclave’ is keeping such a close eye on
my
search for my
father.

*        *        *        *        *

:The sleeping quarters or back to the outlanders? 
Which…which…? 
The sleeping quarters!
 
The Oathbreaker and his friend make ready to leave!  Follow him!:

Yes
, Colbey
agreed with Liam.  The lying mage was heading that direction.  This sudden
summons had instantly made him suspicious.  What other dealings did the mage
engage in when he should be keeping the oath he willingly bound himself to by
accepting his instruction?  What self-serving outland schemes did he work at
when he should have been helping Colbey avenge the slaughter of his people?

:Hurry!:

Yes
.  Colbey
leapt from the manor roof, landing cat-light atop the closer storage building. 
He ran along above, keeping the mage and his friend in sight.  Nothing else
hindered his vision; the dark fog framing the selfish Oathbreaker obscured all
that was unimportant…keeping the two outlanders focused in his sight.

He came to the roof’s end and leapt to a nearby pine. 
Colbey caught the thick branches near the trunk and swung down fifteen feet to
the snowy ground.  Once his feet touched down, he dashed around the last supply
building to the barracks.  A second tree made an easy route up to the roof,
then a quick run along the path already cleared by his feet numerous times
previously brought him to the skylight closest to the mage’s bunk.

Colbey crouched and lifted the wooden frame an inch so
he could hear inside.  The two outlanders arrived.

“I don’t think that is the best idea you’ve ever had,
mate.”

“Fine, you look after it then, since you seem so taken
with it.  It will help you pretty up in the mornings.  You can keep your lovely
face in prime condition to help you seduce Rosa.”

“It is of no use to me, and I have no desire to stand
before her and explain why I was keeping it when she sent it to you.”

“It would take the ground cracking open and seas
swallowing the Stoneseams before I’ll make use of it!  I’m leaving it behind!”

“I’m not sure—”

“Then take it!”

Colbey lifted the frame higher, peering through and
seeing the mage press an object into the other outlander’s stomach.  His friend
sighed in resignation before stooping over his bunk to store it away in his
pack.

“For the record, I formally declare that I disagree
with you on this matter.”

“Noted,” the mage snarled.

“You can be a hardheaded mule, are you aware of
that?”  When the mage made no riposte, he sighed anew.  “So what next?  You
want to head out?”

Colbey’s fingers clenched on the frame.  His
fingernails clawed at the wood.  The fog roiled until it obscured the skylight
as well.  Only the two men below filled his vision.

“Yeah.  I need to work this off.  And I need to exercise
this new bruise before it stiffens.  You want to join them or find an empty
spot?”

“I don’t need to hear Cork explain to me the best way
I should wield my own sword.  Let’s find a quiet corner.”  He pulled his rapier
from under his bunk and they walked toward their door.  Their voices fading,
Colbey heard them comment, “I believe I know why his old friends gave him that
nickname, by the by.”

“Yeah,” the mage grunted.  “He’s always got to be on
top, doesn’t he?”

:They go to spar,:
Sylvia whispered.  Colbey felt feathery fingertips caress his
tightened shoulder muscles.

:This time,:
Liam grunted. 
:That Oathbreaker will try to go his own way in the end.  It
is up to you force his steps and make him fulfill his oath.:

Yes,
Colbey
agreed.  His friends’ restless souls were correct.  The mage owed them a debt,
owed his assistance to provide a distraction against the murderers.  If the
mage continued to renege, then Colbey would have to drag him kicking and pitch
him into the Taur hordes headfirst.

:Whatever it takes.  Whatever it costs.:

Yes,
Colbey
agreed, as he always did now that he could hear their voices once more. 
Yes,
whatever the cost, I will see them dead by my own hands.

*        *        *        *        *

“Is that axle fixed yet?”

“No, sir,” came the tired reply.  “We spent all the
night working to—”

“One hour!  You hear me, soldier?  If we have to leave
this load behind when we leave in one hour’s time,
you’ll
end up on the
Missing
in Action
roster!  Is that clear enough?”  Jide jabbed a hard finger into
the baggy-eyed soldier’s thorax, who rocked to ridged attention as best he
could after a sleepless night.

“Y-yes, sir!”  Fresh sweat formed to join the honest
dew of hard labor.

Jide stomped across to a different wagon in the
caravan, this particular one hauling extra tents and campaign furniture suited
for displaying maps or holding meetings around.  He succeeded in being obvious
about inspecting every piece stowed within while looking as though he were
being unobtrusive.  Doubtless the supply thieves thought he arranged for
certain items to disappear, which suited his purposes well enough.  This
ensured that the cargoes endured the hard trek while also keeping an accurate
tally of what was where.  Already several wagons were missing equipment that
had been loaded when they departed Kallied.  As soon as he had a few spare
moments, he would need to find the rats nibbling at his bread.

These damned wagons!  He had not been forced to travel
with wagons since his second year in the army.  Warehouses and treasuries and
payroll offices and stockyards had been his hunting grounds since earning his
lieutenant’s rank.  Dark rooms and back alleys and ale hostels and unmanned
storage depots had provided a fair thrill of the hunt after Adrian took him
into his fold.  Wagons!

This entire march was the greatest display of
disorganization Jide had ever seen.  The primary forces were ordered to advance
at speed, with no care given to the details.  Every wagon across forty
different towns had been commandeered by the supply officers when given orders
that simply stated,
‘advance with the forces.’

Adrian had never acted so rashly before that Jide
could remember.  What had transpired, or what had he learned that prompted him
to charge at full speed?  Unfortunately, none of Jide’s innocuous notes bearing
his personal seal had returned with an appointment to spar.  Jide had sent four
such notes, each only a simple status report on the areas under his command.

It made him uneasy, Adrian changing plans so
drastically without informing him, though it had happened before.  Adrian
needed to do what was best for the army, and what that might be could change
overnight according to the shifts among court intrigue.

His mad scramble to find wagons capable of carrying
the supplies needed by the Eighteenth through Twentieth Regiments had
interrupted his investigations on Harbon and Mendell.  Not that he had gleaned
much other than that they were as detestable a pair as he and Adrian had ever
dealt with during their years-long cleansing.  The two had reshuffled the men
under their commands, transferring out the officers worth their salt and
gathering the sort who thought feeding a village woman to a Taur patrol both
justifiable and amusing.

That alone should have been enough to warrant their
discharge…but for their patron.  Jide rubbed his eye patch as he once again
wished Adrian were slightly less patriotic.  How the man could simultaneously
know Xenos was rotten to the core and also refuse
to believe the king
had misplaced his faith in a villainous deceiver, Jide would never understand.

At least he kept Harbon on a tight leash, the mangy
cur!  The day Adrian had ordered the sudden march, Jide saw him ride out at the
column’s head, leaving Kallied.  Harbon rode at his elbow, the sidelong glances
from the general making it clear that he only trusted the man as long as he
stayed within his sight.