Jeff Salyards - Veil of the Deserters

The woman who followed her into the room, however, was radically different. Short, and if not especially pudgy, pillowy with full hips, she also wore trousers that stopped short to reveal her calves, which were thick and rounded with muscle. But besides the long-bladed suroka, she had no weapons, no armor, only the modest ash-colored tunic and coat, a burnt orange sash around her waist, and a pewter badge on her breast, a running jackal.

Her skin was darker than Soffjian’s, though not nearly as much as Hewspear’s, which was like the inside of a lantern. No, hers was the color of sandnuts. Her hair, not quite black, wasn’t long enough to be braided or pulled back into a bun or a tail, but still required a wild assortment of silver pins and clasps to keep it in some semblance of order. She reminded me of the river wrens I’d seen as a child, wild feathers sticking out in nearly every direction at once. She had silver rings on each eyebrow, and several along the rims of her ears, and at least one stud flashing on her nose. And while Soffjian’s eyes were dark and dangerous, this woman’s were so pale it was hard to tell they were blue at all, but still worlds warmer. There was something impish about her expression, as if the sight of several armed men was amusing for some reason. Dimples, bubbly cheeks, a small nose that had a fetching almost squared off tip, a hint of mischief in those peculiar eyes-if Soffjian was far more martial and imposing physically than I expected from a Memoridon, this other woman was far too puckish. Assuming she was a Memoridon.

Soffjian looked around the room, taking everything in in that all-too familiar way. When she lit on Braylar, she said, “Brother.” She laid her ranseur on her shoulder, almost lazily. “I might be offended being welcomed by so many sharp and pointy objects, but Hewspear here tells me you’ve all suffered some scratches and bruises in a recent scuffle with the locals, so you’re a bit on edge. Understandable, of course. And to be expected. But still. The lack of an embrace is a little hurtful.”

Braylar smiled, utterly humorless, and while he slowly slid Bloodsounder back on his belt, he made no move at all to approach her. “Soffjian, sweet Soffjian, I hope all of my missives these last years have found you well.”

She smiled in return, equally devoid of any warmth, and Braylar looked at Vendurro. “Sergeant, you haven’t neglected to send them, I hope?”

Vendurro looked as confused as he appeared uncomfortable. “Missives, Cap?”

Soffjian replied, “I do believe your captain is having some fun at your expense. Always baiting and berating the underlings, eh brother? Ever the bully. But I am well, thank you ever so much for the concern, feigned or not. You, however, are looking a bit peaked. Jagged cheekbones, overcast complexion, some alarming bruising around the neck there, and yes, so many new scars. I would say, if you’ll forgive me, that you look particularly unwell.”

The other woman stepped closer. “Oh, Soff, always so critical. Would you rather he looked like a swineherd? He is a Syldoon captain, after all. I know they discourage us from fraternizing with you boys, but I must say, all the steel and scars are quite fetching. Exciting, really.” When she smiled, it was clear her mockery was good-natured. “Hewspear, Mulldoos, Vendurro, so good to see you all again.” She stopped when she saw me at the back of the room and waved. “And you, too, stranger with the crossbow. Though I do hope you lower it a bit. We are all friends here. Or at least not open enemies. Well, unless I’m getting that wrong. I do do that on occasion. And it seems we received our mandate so long ago, I hardly remember why we rode all this way.”

I lowered the crossbow, embarrassed I hadn’t already. Then Braylar looked at his sister and said, slippery with sarcasm, “While I am clearly overjoyed to see you again, I am anxious to be enlightened. Why did the two of you make such a trek? Surely it must be taxing already. I would have prepared a more suitable celebration of your arrival had our Tower Commander sent notice.” He made no effort to disguise the bite in the last line. It was difficult to tell whether the arrival of Memoridons, the fact that his sister was one of them, or the surprising nature of the visit irked him more. It very well might have been a tie.

She smiled, thin and tight. “Very well. Cutting right through the pleasantries. My arrival is notice, of a sort. It seems you and your retinue have caused all the mayhem you’re going to in the region. You have been recalled.”

Braylar raised one eyebrow. “Truly? That does strike me as… odd. We are here by command of the Tower Commander himself. You do realize we have spent years in this region, orchestrating and preparing, and finally putting things in motion. Our orders were clear. Are clear.”

She matched him eyebrow for eyebrow. “Mayhaps you should have followed them more quickly then.”

“If Commander Darzaak has cause to be concerned or displeased, I assume we would have heard of it already. From him. Directly.”

“Had the recall come by way of Commander Darzaak, I assume you would be right. But this recall comes from Emperor Cynead himself.”

“Directly,” the shorter woman added. When the siblings both glared at her, she said, “Well, just aiming for clarity. These kinds of messages often get muddied carried from place to place. Details get left out, conflated, what have you. Just want to be sure no one is confused about any of the particulars. I’m often confused. It’s an unpleasant way to go through life.”

“Shut it, Skeelana,” Soffjian ordered. Again, sounding eerily similar to her kin in the room.

Braylar looked at Soffjian. “And the good Emperor is aware that these plans are part of a greater Imperial mandate, and endorsed by his administration? Surely these facts have not slipped his mind, even as pressed as he is by mundane Imperial matters? Details get lost in the capital from time to time as well.”

Skeelana nodded. “Excellent point.”

Soffjian tapped the butt spike of her ranseur on the floorboards. “Not his mandate, brother. The predecessor he ousted. And while he did nothing to stop them, I would hardly call that a ringing endorsement. But in any event, he is recalling your company, as well as most others in Anjuria, if rumors are to be believed. But I don’t trade in rumors. Only in fact, cold and cruel and often transcribed for posterity. Even Memoridons don’t always trust in memory.” She retrieved a scroll from her belt pouch and handed it to Braylar.

Braylar did not examine the seal for authenticity, but broke it quickly, bits of blood-colored wax falling onto the floor. Mulldoos and Hewspear exchanged a look as Braylar read the contents, eyes darting quickly across the lines. I wondered if it was coded or written simply in Syldoonian.

Vendurro asked, “They really pulling out the other companies here? A lot of Syldoon in the region.”

Soffjian replied, “Rumor, Sergeant. Rumor’s the slut you bend over a chair and never see again. Truth’s the lady you wed.”

Mulldoos slid the falchion back in his scabbard. “Truth usually turns out to be a bitch. And twice the trouble. Give me a bed full of rumors any day.”

Skeelana laughed. Soffjian did not. She said, “Ahh, yes. Your lot does have a penchant for whores and barmaids.”

Mulldoos burped, loud and long, as if he’d been saving it for rebuttal. Or the preamble, anyway. “Better company than most. Only consort with ladies and other powerful bitches when we got little enough choice.”

Soffjian didn’t take her eyes off Mulldoos that I noticed, and there was heat behind them. But she kept her voice level, so much so that it was difficult to tell that the jovial tone was counterfeit. “Bitches, witches, so difficult to tell if one is truly more flattering than the other. But ‘powerful,’ Mulldoos? You are far too kind.”