Ed Greenwood: The Wizard's Mask

"Worry not, Daethan. We have moths in Canorate, too."

"I grow no younger," a third man observed coldly. A voice used to command, this one, and humorless. Probably ruthless. "So let us proceed. My rank you can plainly see. My name is Osturr, though those not in this room should know me only as 'Lord Investigator.' I report directly to the General Lords, and they dislike deceit, half-truths, and corruption large and small. My current orders have me traveling Molthune ferreting out Nirmathi spies. Your most recent reports mention a masked man you are suspicious of-so here I am. Have you anything to add to what you reported?"

"N-no." That was Rolph's voice. He was one of the Halidonese military commanders, evidently. "He's been doing business with Tarlmond-er, Escolarr Tarlmond. A manygoods merchant with a rather sly reputation, but an ex-soldier and no convictions. We gave our man Harl a report on this 'Masked' as a warning. Suitably abbreviated, of course."

"And? Has this 'Harl' reported back to you?"

"Only that he was expecting to meet with the masked man again soon. Claims to know no name for the man, nor to have seen behind his mask."

"And the nature of their 'business' together?"

"Message-running. Verbal, not written, the masked man being the runner."

"Clearly communications about illicit matters, then. And the cover cargo?"

"Eh?"

"The document or key or other portables The Masked carried to Tarlmond's associates, as his pretext for visiting them to pass on the merchant's secret messages. We call it 'cover cargo.'" The Lord Investigator didn't utter the word "dolts," but his tone of voice made it as clear an addition as if he'd spat it in their faces.

Tantaerra grinned up at the glittering stars. My, but Molthuni bloodcoats were so civil to each other.

"We don't know," Rolph replied, a little stiffly. "Our investigations have not proceeded-"

"That far. Indeed. Halidon is so rife with lawbreaking that your resources are overstretched. I shall report as much."

"Here, now!" A fourth voice rose in protest, in tones rough from little use. "There's no call to-"

"Oh, but there is , Lancecaptain. Molthune is at war , in case you've forgotten as much, here in this dusty backwater. The border with Nirmathas, I should not have to remind you, is not all that far away. And any weakness in the soldiers of Molthune must be identified and obliterated, for we are only as strong-"

"As our weakest warrior. I know the saying. We all do."

"Then why, Lancecaptain, don't you apply it? The General Lords' orders, reports, even suggestions -none of them are empty words, or intended to be taken as such. You might perhaps-just perhaps -have noticed that I am armed. These blades are not for show. I use them often-and almost always on soldiers, or our hirelings, who've been found wanting. Now as you clearly have nothing of value to tell me, suppose you avoid being found wanting by releasing to my command your best patrol-or assembling one, if you cleave to the rather desperate practice of harnessing your few competent soldiers to your drooling dolts and disloyal malingerers-forthwith. As in, right now ."

The voice turned brisk; the Lord Investigator was clearly on the move. A door banged open. Tantaerra smiled again, not needing to see into the room to know that the oh-so-pleasant Osturr had turned on the threshold to add, "I see no reason to wait for morning to start hunting masked men, as Halidon is clearly no great metropolis. The stench as I rode in tells me you lack sewers, for instance."

"That is correct," Rolph confirmed, even more stiffly. "If you'd care to dine off the roast in the kitchen, I'll assemble the patrol for you before you're done."

"Lord Investigators trust no food they've not watched being prepared. We are not deeply loved."

"Oh?" the Lancecaptain dared to say, sarcasm clear in his voice. "You surprise me."

"Wanting," the Lord Investigator replied, as gently as any lover speaking endearments, and turned to descend the stairs. Tantaerra's eyes narrowed. She heard just the faintest of scrapes as heels moved on stone; the investigator was almost as quiet as a thief, despite the Molthuni boots the man must be wearing.

Whoever this Masked was, he was in for a bad time.

As was she, if Osturr didn't find his quarry. He'd turn sleepy little Halidon behind-over-brisket searching it-and when the sun rose, this roof would become a halfling oven. A moment ago she'd been thinking staying put up here for the night would be best-but no, stalking along right behind this patrol, waiting for a chance to make an "accident" befall the Lord Investigator would be safer. Less chance of being found by searchers, and all enthusiasm for searching would likely die with this Osturr.

"I warned you he bites," Daethan murmured merrily, from the window above her.

"I asked for this posting because it was quiet ," Rolph snarled. "Fight a few forest beasts who dislike our logging, and jail a few thieves trying to move about the country in disguise, with the caravans. It's vipers like him I left Canorate to get clear of. 'These blades are not for show.' Pah. I'd like to show him a thing or two. I'll wager he's never set foot in Nirmathas, nor fought in a real battle."

"I'd save your coin, if I were you," Daethan murmured. "Be glad he didn't light up. He likes horrible greenish cigars-'stinkchokes,' we call 'em-from somewhere beyond Cheliax. Even with this window open, we'd have gone just as green as they are. But he didn't even get one out. He must like you."

And with that, he went out and down the stair far more noisily than the Lord Investigator had.

"Damned funny way he has of showing it," Rolph growled. "Ruldroon any better yet?"

"Well, he won't be climbing ladders anytime soon," the Lancecaptain replied heavily, his voice fading as he and Rolph followed everyone else down the stairs.

Tantaerra kept her sigh silent as she got up, stretched-then hastily crouched back down again as one of her feet started to go through the gutter. Every bit as rotten as she'd feared.

So, now? Down, yes, and that'd be an easy climb with all these rough edges and sloppy finishes, but whither after that?

Someone barked an order in the barracks yard below. Ah, yes, the gods forbid soldiers of Molthune would do anything stealthy or sensible. Not with Lord So Mighty High Investigator around.

Boots crunched on loose stones, spears were grounded, swords clanked. That'd be the best patrol.

"You will obey me," Lord Investigator Osturr said, his voice silk over ice. Someone's spear trembled.

"We search this barracks first. First rank, out and form a cordon, looking in. You and you, stand behind them facing out, to guard against attack. The rest of you, search room by room, and report results for each room back to me, as you deem it clear or have trouble to report. We'll begin with the cellar, if you have one, and work our way up to the rooftops. Cordon first, and call when ready. Watch for anyone seeking to flee."

Dung! Steaming, dripping dragon dung!

She had to get out and gone before that cordon-

Tantaerra put her foot firmly through the rotting gutter, pulled it back up again, and tore off a piece of wood with a crack loud enough to echo off the roof, then tossed it over the roof peak, just high enough to clear.

It landed with a tiny crash on the far side of the roof, bounced once and made a second, tinier crash, then fell to the ground below.

Men shouted and rushed, spears waving wildly.

Good, they were headed around the far end of the building, which meant she-

"That was thrown, idiots. The first sounds came from up there ."

The Lord Investigator was standing just below her, looking up. Three guards were with him.