Jeff Salyards - Veil of the Deserters

I wished I could have said something to him to change things in my favor-remind him that I helped save the captain’s life in the temple, or Hewspear’s in the copse, or could have run when we were in Alespell and chose not to, especially after seeing the Hornman I spared. But of course I couldn’t. And of course it wouldn’t have done any good, even if I had.

If Mulldoos was right-if I was only a tool to the Syldoon, with never a chance to be more than that, then I was a fool to stand up to Soffjian to try to protect them. As it turned out, I was a fool regardless. She could have struck me down without blinking, even if I had good cause. And in the end, it didn’t matter. With no other recourse, we were doing the one thing the captain had absolutely forbidden.

Now the only questions were: could she or Skeelana help him, would they, and what would it mean once they had access to the interior of the man?

The group sat in silence like that, watching nothing, waiting for what felt like ages, when there was a soft rap on the door. We all turned as it opened and Vendurro came in first, followed by Soffjian and Skeelana. Despite having no immediate use for it, Soffjian carried her ranseur. I suppose if being among the Syldoon (and now a combat Memoridon) taught me anything, it was that unexpected bloodshed could come at any time and from any quarter. Skeelana, as usual, had the bare minimum armament of a suroka, though on her it seemed a ceremonial weapon, at best. I’m sure I would have looked equally uncomfortable with it on my hip.

Soffjian looked around the room, taking everything and everyone in slowly, and again I was reminded of the way Braylar surveyed a scene or situation, calculating and either pragmatic or cold, depending on how you viewed such detachment. She stopped when she got to me and smiled, though it was hardly warm. “Well, Arkamondos. It seems all your efforts to maintain secrecy were undone anyway. Or will be soon enough. Though I do commend you for the great lengths you went to try to maintain the little charade.” Soffjian looked directly at Mulldoos, and whether Vendurro had tipped her off or she was that masterful at gauging temperament, she said, “You should know, clumsy and artless as he was, your young scribe here did his best to reveal nothing of your captain’s very unusual condition.”

She might as well have been talking to the furniture for all the reaction she got.

Soffjian stuck the butt spike of her ranseur on the floor and gave it a slow spin, setting the tassels flowing like a dancer’s skirts, and then she looked at Hewspear. “Vendurro tells me you have need of our services.” She glanced at Braylar again, like a battlefield surgeon, determining whether a wound would prove fatal, result in amputation, or perhaps could be treatable. “While I appreciate your rigid brotherhood, tell me what I need to know. Spare no details. Not if you truly want us to save my brother. That is why you summoned us, is it not?”

Hewspear explained it all then, the necessary information at least. If it had been Vendurro briefing her, it would have been the opposite of brief and taken three days, but Hewspear was succinct, including only those critical facets-a pithy account of unearthing Bloodsounder, its peculiar debilitating effects, their thwarted efforts of breaking the bond between weapon and man, enlisting Lloi, her efforts to drain the poisonous memories out, subsequent death, and the failure to find someone else to take her place and help the captain.

Soffjian listened for the most part, asking for a small bit of clarification here, a little elaboration there, and though it all seemed designed to help her better assess his condition and her ability to aid him, having experienced her scrying firsthand, I felt as if her line of questioning served some other purpose as well. Though I couldn’t fathom what that might be.

She seemed intrigued by all she heard, but not especially shocked, and only vaguely surprised by some of it.

I looked over at Skeelana once or twice as she sat apart from everyone else, hoping she might somehow reveal something, anything. But she only made eye contact once, and broke it just as quickly. I wondered if I was reading too much into things. Or perhaps not reading enough.

Finally, Soffjian seemed satisfied, and Hewspear had unspooled as much as he intended.

Mulldoos spoke for the first time. “We brought you in to take care of him. No secret I got no love for your kind, but-”

“Really?” Soffjian feigned shock. “I confess I’m as wounded as I am surprised.”

“But I figured if some crippled barbarian whore could keep him from going mad, you and yours ought to be able to fix him good. Maybe cure him. Free him. But let me tell you something, witch-”

“Oh, do. Please.”

“I watched Lloi tromp around inside him, finding those stolen memories, stealing them back out, so I know how long it took. And she had no real skill. So if I get the feeling you’re strolling around seeing the sights, looking at more than exactly what you need, I swear to Truth, I’ll cut you into pieces so small they wouldn’t choke a rat. You understand?”

He had such a violent presence, and spoke with such horrible conviction, there was no doubting he meant every word, but it did not have the intended effect. Soffjian seemed unfazed. “Your loyalty and desire to protect your captain are both duly noted. But I do believe I take some exception to your tone, Lieutenant. At best, it could result in me simply refusing to aid him at all. At worst, it might invite the wrath of a war Memoridon who can blast you to madness without more than a blink. I’d advise you-and I’ll only do so once-to adopt a slightly more congenial manner.”

Mulldoos should have been terrified, but to his credit, if he was he completely masked it. “Advise whatever you plaguing want. Warning still stands. Cap didn’t trust you to look him over, I sure as hells don’t either. But we got no choice. Only do what needs doing. Nothing more.”

She could have walked out or struck him down and neither would have surprised me, but after pausing for a few moments, as expressive as a reptile, she said. “Oh, I hear you, Syldoon. Make no mistake. But the memory of a Memoridon does not end. Do remember that.”

Soffjian looked Skeelana’s way, and the younger woman sprang off her stool and came over. Soffjian put her hand on Skeelana’s shoulder. “As I told our anxious scrivener over there, this will require some delicacy. I am not good at delicate.”

“Useful at last.” While everyone else in the room was wound tight, Skeelana looked like she was ready to jump in a swimming hole on a hot summer day. “What would you have me do?”

“It’s just like sifting through memories, searching for the truth. Only, as the good soldiers here have made abundantly clear, we’re not looking for his memories. Only foreign matter that does not belong.”

Skeelana nodded. “Finding it should be easy enough. But I’ve never-” She took a deep breath, and it was hard to tell if she was nervous or excited. “I’ve never extracted anything like that before.”

Soffjian smiled, and for once there was some warmth to it. If only a hint. “Well then. You will be making some history. Memoridon history at least. An untrained was already trudging around there, muddying the waters. If she can do it, I’m confident you can manage.”

I said, “You’ll feel quite nauseous after.” Everyone in the room looked at me as if they had completely forgotten I was even a bystander, and I immediately felt the flush in my cheeks. “That is, if previous experience holds true. The stolen memories, they’re like poison, and drawing them out, you’ll experience a little of what the captain has. But it passes. After you vomit anyway.”