The Swordmaster, page 13
The description of the two men had meant nothing to the landlady of ‘Ye Olde Rusty Dagger’ in Klamm although she did describe a gang of mercenaries, who seemed to be spending a lot of time hanging about the streets of the town. They almost always wore dark grey tunics, decorated with studs, front and back. The dead men who had been found beside Shyr Ban’s body hadn’t worn anything so striking. That didn’t mean much – their tunics could easily have been removed after their deaths. The wine merchant in Klamm had told him that the gang were Duke Schohtar’s men – always on the move fulfilling special contracts. Some referred to them as Grey Mercenaries.
He knew he should suss this southern duke out. But that would be far from easy at this time. Firstly, he had his responsibilities within the fortress, and secondly, the current political constellation suggested that extreme caution was called for. And anyway, he wanted to travel to Castle Beachperch and visit Sara. How long was it since he had last seen her? He was glad that Tedore had taken her in that time. And he loved Tedore for having immediately given Sara a refuge. He hoped that she was adult enough by now to understand the decisions and actions he had taken for her sake.
‘Maks, I’ve really taken on an awful lot for a man of my age, who only a short time ago liked to do nothing more than sit on the beach and count the waves.’
a new contract
A lovely piece of land. She sat on the bank and looked out onto the little lake. She liked the Raven Forest, for it was big, dense and dangerous, which meant other people stayed away.
Twenty-seven days had passed by since she had last spent time here – when she hadn’t killed the prince, letting him go instead.
And now she was sitting here again, wondering if he would turn up in the tavern in Klamm. She was pretty sure he wouldn’t. Life had taught her that she couldn’t depend on anyone apart from herself. She herself had followed this principle with grim determination until now – and it had served her well.
And now? She kept telling herself that she would have come here even without having made this arrangement, but she wasn’t quite able to persuade herself. Her greatest weakness was curiosity – which stood in direct contradiction to her belief that everything that did not immediately affect her was of no matter to her. Hmm? Was her curiosity part of her life-logic? She summarised it for herself: curiosity delivers the strength to search for questions – and once the questions have been found, the curiosity to find the answers manifests itself. Ergo, curiosity is the driving force impelling the attainment of knowledge. Logical.
She was sure that curiosity was now written all over her face as she wondered if the fat urchin with the idiotic parchment would turn up or not. Soon, the sun reached its zenith, and she enjoyed the late summer warmth. Here, she felt protected and at peace. No-one came stealthily through this forest – with the exception of herself, of course. She was safe in the knowledge that no unpleasant surprises would be sprung on her.
She took off her shoes and waded into the water until it reached her knees. The mud welled up between her toes – tickly and cool – a pleasant feeling. She stood in the water and pondered what would happen next. Taking on a new contract didn’t appeal to her at the moment. First, she would wait to see if the mysterious parchment revealed anything or not, then she would decide. There was always the possibility that she might travel to the great slave market on the Southern Islands and search for some clues as to her origins.
After a while the cold began to creep up her legs. She left the water, sat down on a rock and relaxed. She could sit here for hours like this and wait. It wouldn’t bother her.
She set off for Klamm early the next morning. Wasting no time, she made her way through the Raven Forest towards the south-east. This would have been a journey of two days for anyone else, but she had already arrived in the little village by late evening.
She stepped into the tavern, ‘Ye Olde Rusty Dagger’. The landlady nodded in greeting. The only others in there were a man and woman sitting at a table in the corner.
‘A tankard of beer,’ she said.
The landlady eyed her new customer curiously. ‘Do you want to stay the night in my abode?’
‘No.’
‘My rooms are clean and comfortable.’
She remained calm, even friendly. ‘I am unable to sleep in the houses of strangers. I prefer to spend the night under the open sky.’
‘As you wish.’ The landlady peered more closely. ‘Are you Tomur or Marein?’
She scowled. ‘I am me.’
The hostess placed the tankard in front of her. ‘And which king do you follow?’ she asked patiently.
She rolled her eyes. ‘I follow no-one.’
‘Hm – you are not any of my run-of-the-mill customers, then.’
She screwed up her nose. ‘There is nothing “run-of-the-mill” about me.’ She downed a deep draught. The beer tasted spicy and wasn’t warm for a change. ‘I thought there was only one king in Toladar.’
‘Duke Schohtar is questioning Tedore’s authority because the king is taking no action against the threat from the south. Schohtar plans to overthrow Tedore and to place the crown upon his own head.’
She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Then they should stand opposite each other and smack each other across the face repeatedly until one of them is in the right.’
‘I see. Is there anything else I can do for you?’
‘If a boy turns up here tomorrow looking for me, then send him to the market square.’ She placed a small gold coin on the counter and left the tavern. She could feel three pairs of eyes boring into her back.
As dusk slowly began to fall, the thought formed in her mind that Prince Karek probably had better things to be doing today than willingly putting himself into the hands of a murderess who had been contracted to kill him. Even if the contract was no longer valid.
Indifference overcame her. She thought of Fleabag – she hadn’t seen him for two weeks either. Whatever! Indifference was doing its work well. It reached her chest and felt cold and dry. She began to imagine her heart beating evermore slowly – as if she were hibernating. Ba-bum…ba-bum…ba-bum.
Wait a minute – was something moving?
She was lying flat on the roof of a house, from where she had a good view of the village centre – her senses were on high alert.
A boy appeared on the street, looked up at the tavern sign and went in.
A short time later, he came out and wandered to the market square. Having arrived, he called out: ‘Are you there? Sorry for not getting here earlier, but you can’t imagine how difficult it was to get out of the fortress.’
She left her hiding place and called out: ‘Hello, cadet. I confess, I wasn’t sure that you would turn up at all.’
‘Nor was I, if truth be told. Officially, I am not allowed to leave, and getting out of the fortification without being spotted was far from easy. I hope I’m not going to be declared a deserter when I go back later.’
She looked into his eyes and murmured: ‘Prince, there are not many people who would have come had they been in your shoes. Come on, let’s get out of here and go down to the beach.’
‘What do you want to do on the beach?’
‘Build a sandcastle and play the prince and the evil witch.’
Karek looked at her severely and asked with a mixture of genuine and playful surprise: ‘Did you just crack a joke or – to be more precise –make an attempt at cracking one?’
Her mouth threatened with a hint of a smile, but she answered sternly: ‘Jokes are for fools and knaves. I am a hired killer.’
‘I’ve been trying to supress that thought – thanks for reminding me.’
‘Let’s go – I hate open spaces.’
‘You arranged our meeting place deliberately because you didn’t know if I was going to turn up with thirty soldiers in tow.’
She noticed the subtle accusatory tone in the boy’s voice.
‘Spot on. Well done. A courtly prince is even less trustworthy than a contract killer from the forest.’
Having arrived at the beach, they sat down on the sand, now considerably cooler than earlier in the day. The tide was slowly beginning to come in, and the little white caps of foam on the waves were sparkling in the moonlight.
She stood up, gathered together some driftwood that had been cast ashore by previous high tides and lit a fire.
Karek said: ‘I must go again in three hours or else I won’t get back into the fortress and I’ll be toast. But how have you been?’
‘I’ll tell you soon. First let me see the copy of the parchment.’
The boy took a scroll from his belt bag and handed it to her. She held the paper to the light of the campfire. The upper part consisted of a map, and underneath there seemed to be a description of where this area was to be found.
‘On the coast in the east of the Sun Sand,’ she read without stumbling. ‘That’s what it says under the drawing. And then it goes on:
‘The sand timer of Toluderadas.
When the rocks to heaven are hoven
Then the time will be new-woven.
Should you the sands of time maintain
The moment’s eterne – this much is plain.’
She pointed at a blot on the paper. ‘The exact location is represented by a point on which someone has scribbled a circle.’
The prince stared at her, flabbergasted. ‘You can’t just read it so lackadaisically – as though you had nothing better to be doing with your time than studying languages that are thousands of years old. And then you translate the ancient language into perfect poetry?’
She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Nothing easier in the world. Just don’t ask me how come I can do it. I must have heard it during my childhood.’
She wondered too, even if she wasn’t letting on. This language, these words, this drawing were springing out of her brain, like sparks from a fire. And her head was feeling appropriately warm, as though her brain were pressing out against her skull from inside. Someone must have taught her the ancient language ages ago – and now it had come tumbling out – surprisingly, confusingly, excitingly.
‘The sand timer of Toluderadas. I figured that much out already. What sort of a clock could it be? And what’s it good for?’
‘You’re the educated one of the two of us. It sounds to me like a magical artefact from the time of the Myrns.’
The boy furrowed his brows. ‘I don’t believe in magic. But I must admit, I, too, never believed there were Myrns until recently. However, there is something special about this parchment. The very fact that Duke Schohtar is so interested in it, is evidence enough.’
‘When I eavesdropped on Schohtar, he talked of an artefact, the possession of which could win the war.’
‘I was meant to get my hands on this artefact before Schohtar. I can feel it in my bones.’ He hesitated. ‘What does this map represent? In the east of the Sun Sand? Where’s that supposed to be?’
‘Am I a geographer?’ she growled. Then something struck her. ‘It’s referring to the great desert in Soradar.’ She turned the map around and looked at the sketched outline of the coast. ‘Yes, that’s in the north-east of Soradar. An area with few inhabitants. And those few inhabitants are not particularly receptive to strangers. Especially to those strangers who took their last gold thaler, their last cow and their last crust of bread the last time the inhabitants lost a war.’
‘Those were reparations. After all, it was the Soradians who attacked us.’
‘A question of perspective. I have no objection either way. The winner takes it all. I am simply analysing the situation rationally and I conclude that it is quite possible that the Soradians won’t welcome you with open arms.’
Karek made a peculiar face, and she left it at that. Debating the wars of the past with the prince of Toladar was a complete waste of time, she concluded.
The boy looked at her and pointed at the scroll. ‘It can’t be too far from here. A few days’ ride south along the coast.’
‘Correct. Three at most. Do you want to go there or what?’
‘Of course. I’m collecting magical artefacts and I still don’t have a sand timer. And what makes it particularly exciting is the fact that Schohtar seems to share the same passion for collecting.’
She noticed that her mind was wandering. These strange drawings on the parchment, which nonetheless seemed so familiar to her, were causing a little cog in her mind to turn. In her very tender years, she had learned to speak and read this language – that much was clear. Why, and from whom? What was her connection to the ancient Myrnian tongue?
The prince seemed to be mulling over the exact same question, too. He was peering at her like a mushroom forager considering whether they should put a particularly peculiar mushroom into their basket or whether it would be more advisable to leave it where it was.
She stood up, went to the fire and added another piece of wood.
Using both hands, Karek built a little hill of sand. She clearly hadn’t been serious about making sandcastles. So much for her attempt at humour…
‘I was just wondering,’ said Karek. ‘Before we parted company the last time, you called me “peace hero”. What made you say that?’
She raised her right eyebrow and peered at him. ‘That’s what the white-haired old git called you at Schohtar’s, when I listened to the trio in the duke’s castle from the balcony. He seemed to be so loyal to his homeland of Toladar that he had no problem betraying his king and prince.’
‘Whaat?!’ The prince leaped to his feet. ‘And you’re only telling me this now?’
‘Politics isn’t my thing. I never made a secret of that,’ she snapped scornfully.
The boy was gobsmacked. ‘That must have been Magister Korn.’
‘Yup. That was his name.’
Karek stomped a circle around her in the sand. ‘He is the traitor. He told Schohtar about everything that was going on in Cragwater, probably including the fact that I am now staying in Fortress Beachperch.’
‘Bull’s eye. That’s what he whispered to him.’
‘What else did Magister Korn relate?’ The boy sat down – she could see how much self-control it was costing him.
She began to become angry, too. ‘If you and your king have no control over your subjects, what business is it of mine?’ Then she added: ‘Corny reckoned that the Mareins were too weak, too pliable, too irrelevant. Because of those attributes, he considered Duke Schohtar more capable.’ Now she was beginning to enjoy verbally slugging the heir to the throne with this new information. ‘As regards the future King Karek, I heard the attribute “incapable” being applied to him several times. I, of course, have no opinion on the matter.’
The prince remained calm – she had to hand that to him at least. He made do with slapping his hand on his forehead. ‘That means: Duke Schohtar hired you to kill me. Magister Korn delivered all the information to him.’
She was surprised that the clever-clogs prince had only grasped this now. ‘Wow – the Mareins really are bright sparks.’
It seemed she had gone too far.
The boy glared at her furiously. ‘I admit, I underestimated how seriously you meant your statement about the prince and the evil witch.’
Hoity-toity royal humour – even less effective than murderess crow humour. She merely shrugged her shoulders.
But then she noticed something. The prince had one really strong point – he never allowed his emotions to get in the way of things for too long, but seemed, in the main, to be able to calm himself down when necessary.
‘I must inform father as quickly as possible. It’s more than likely that Schohtar has completely broken with him by now. The fact that even before this he had tried to have me murdered is beyond the beyond. Both Schohtar and that greasy old snake Magister Korn deserve to be in the dungeons on account of their high treason.’
‘Only in the dungeons on account of high treason? That sounds very like weakness, pliability and irrelevance.’
‘Yes, yes. Understood.’
She knew exactly how full of rage he was, and she didn’t want to pour more oil onto the fire. It was time to remind him that she was fundamentally on his side. ‘My many friends and hangers-on love me for my cynicism.’ She added thoughtfully as a footnote: ‘Things are happening that are not good. Count Mondek is gleefully hanging your father’s spies in public. If they were spies at all and not simple unfortunates who happened to be following the wrong king in the wrong place. Then there are the convicts under the ground being forced to scrape some weird stuff off the walls of stinking clay pits filled with sewage. Not to mention the fact that the duke seems to be collecting cartloads of brimstone.’
Judging by the look on the prince’s face, he might well have found another mysterious mushroom. This time, at any rate, he had every right to look non-plussed.
He asked: ‘What are you talking about? What’s the point of doing that?’
‘I could hardly believe my eyes either.’
She told him of her little detour behind the sewer grille.
The prince pondered. ‘Over the past few years, forced labour in Schohtar’s mines has become an increasingly popular form of punishment for serious crimes. During sittings of the superior sessions, the duke himself would ask my father from time to time to transfer convicts to the mines.’
‘But that’s not the half of it. The landlady in “Ye Olde Rusty Dagger” asked me if I follow Tomur or Marein. The people seem to be divided, and there is a threat of civil war.’
‘Would Schohtar really dare to build up an army and move against my father?’
‘It looks like it. And there are rumours that he is willing to use sorcery in the process.’
Karek shook his head. ‘Might it have something to do with this sand timer? After all, Schohtar has been trying to get his hands on this artefact for some time now.’
