Paul Thompson - A Hero's justice

Egrin dug deeper into the bundle. The earlier communications were much longer and wilder, sounding like the ramblings of a deranged man. In them, Ackal V railed about treachery, particularly from wizards of the Red and White orders. The emperor insisted over and over to Wornoth that, above all other tasks, he was to keep an eye on the members of those orders in Caergoth.

The next discovery was much more upsetting-a packet of messages to Wornoth from various warlords. These outlined the warlords’ struggles against the nomads and the bakali and requested that the governor send troops and supplies. As time passed and Wornoth sent neither, the requests became demands, then pleas. One dispatch from Bessian was literally spattered with blood. The invaders were closing in, it said, and the Ergothians could neither win nor escape; the governor must send aid. The governor of Caergoth, determined to defend his own neck, had done nothing to aid the dying hordes. This bundle contained no copies of outgoing missives. Wornoth had not even bothered to reply.

Coldly furious, Egrin put the pleading messages aside. The smallest bundle in the cache was not merely tied with string but also wrapped in a scrap of cloth. Egrin reached for this packet of letters, but it slipped through his fingers. He tried again. And again. And again. He glared at the bundle in perplexed confusion. No matter how hard he tried, he could not grab hold of it.

When Tol arrived moments later, Egrin told him of the strange small packet.

“I seem to have butter on my fingers. Can’t pick this up!” the former marshal said, pointing.

Tol squatted by the open drawer. He reached for the packet. Although a flicker of heat played over his fingers, they closed infallibly on the letters. The sensation of warmth was familiar. Someone had put a spell on the letters, most likely to prevent them being tampered with, but the nullstone had negated the spell.

He handed the small packet to Egrin, who held it warily. This time it stayed in his grasp. The elder warrior muttered something about being old and clumsy.

“Rubbish, you’re just tired,” Tol said.

The cloth wrapping contained a dozen or so squares of thin parchment. The backs of the slips were scorched by heat, but lines of writing in unusual brown ink filled the other side. None of the messages was signed.

“Letters from spies,” Egrin said.

The messages all were short, and most were demands for information from an anonymous correspondent. None concerned the nomads or bakali invaders. Some asked about the morale and loyalty of the imperial hordes in Caergoth and commented on the danger of sending troops beyond the walls and leaving the city “helpless and unguarded.” Most sought knowledge of Tol’s whereabouts; Helbin, too, was mentioned.

I’ve had no word from Helbin in many days, the anonymous correspondent had written. If he comes into your hands, let me know at once. Protect him. He is a valuable ally.

“Didn’t Queen Casberry say Helbin had been captured by Wornoth’s guards?” asked Egrin.

Tol nodded absently. They had looked all over for the Red Robe. There had been no trace of the wizard among the prisoners, either in the citadel or anywhere else.

“These messages are in Valaran’s hand!” Tol exclaimed. Egrin’s graying eyebrows lifted in surprise and Tol added, “Don’t you see? Wornoth was playing both sides. He was spying for the empress, while ruling in the emperor’s name.” The duplicity of the man was incredible.

“Then why would he arrest Helbin? He knew they both served the same mistress.”

Tol shrugged. “Maybe Wornoth was duping Valaran, betraying her trust to Ackal V. If so, the last thing he’d want around would be a loyal servant of the empress.” Tol tossed the letters back in the drawer. “Helbin could tell us more. He’s probably dead, but continue the search for him anyway.”

He left Egrin to finish examining Wornoth’s secret papers. Queen Casberry was departing, and Tol wanted to see her off.

Egrin waited until his friend and commander had gone, then picked up certain of the bundles again, riffled through them, and extracted a sheaf or two. These he burned in the flame of his lamp, watching the doorway all the while.

Tol, Casberry, and her bearers were just inside the north gate of Caergoth. Evening had come and Luin was rising, casting its pinkish light over the open landscape.

Tol asked the kender queen about her escort and received the breezy assurance that both Royal Loyals and Household Guard were “around somewhere.” She had already turned down his offer of an armed escort, saying she might not be heading directly home. Kender were afflicted with wanderlust, and the queen was the most kenderish of them all.

Front and Back hoisted the heavy sedan chair onto their shoulders, seemingly without effort. As usual, Queen Casberry offered a steady stream of advice to the duo on the best way to carry the chair and, as usual, the men ignored her. Tol smiled. They were certainly an odd threesome.

When he thanked her again for her assistance, she patted him on the head. “You’re a good fellow, for a human.” Putting her little prune face close to his head, she added, “You’re getting a bald spot up here, you know that?”

Tol cleared his throat and stepped back. He was past forty now, and it was true. Age was beginning to tell on him in many ways.

“Okay, boys, pick up your feet!” she said, and Front and Back headed for the open gate.

“Oh, your Majesty!” Tol called. “Where should I send the payment you were promised for your troops?”

Casberry lifted both arms and waved. Her arms, from wrist to elbow, were covered with gold and silver bangles.

“Don’t worry, I’ve taken care of that!” she said, cackling.

The little party seemed so lonely, so vulnerable, Tol found himself following them out. The bearers kept to the center of the white-pebbled road, which curved away to the northwest. Before Casberry had gone a quarter-league, however, small shadowy figures joined her out of the darkness. Kender. More and more appeared as she progressed, falling in behind their clever, rapacious queen.

The cryptic phrase Casberry used so often-”no kender is ever alone”-was, Tol knew, true enough. He also knew the treasure recovered from the nomads was by now somewhat diminished. It didn’t matter. The kender had earned their “found” valuables.

Tol walked back into the city, and the guards closed the gate. He rode through the darkening streets, now empty of the crowds of refugees. Trash blew along the wide lanes, last reminders of the thousands who had crowded into Caergoth to escape the chaos outside. On their own initiative, a brigade of street sweepers had organized to clean the city. Before long Caergoth would once more be a byword for cleanliness in the empire.

Daltigoth lay forty leagues southwest, a ride of five or six days on the Ackal Path. Daltigoth was his journey’s end. All Tol’s goals were there, he reflected, with Valaran his prize. So wrapped up was he in thoughts of his distant love, that Tol didn’t notice a caped figure emerge from an alley as he passed. But after a few paces, he said (without turning around), “Did you find her, Tylocost?”

The elf chuckled. “Your senses aren’t bad for a human, my lord.”

“Your sandals creak.”

Tol had dispatched Tylocost to find the Pakin princess, Mellamy Zan, reported by Hanira to be in Caergoth.

“I found her,” Tylocost said, putting back his hood. “I believe she will accept my protection. Her advisors were against it, but she overruled them. She seems remarkably intelligent and accomplished-for a human.”

“Remember where your allegiance lies, General.”

With irritating Silvanesti aplomb, Tylocost inclined his head gracefully. “I remember, my lord.”