There was no question of going back to sleep, but daybreak arrived within another two hours anyway. Tostig had two men who were fit for duty, and the other survivors, although no longer in immediate danger of succumbing to their injuries, still needed much recuperation.

  They had so far managed to recover two horses, though not surprisingly, the animals were quite skittish. Terchin had struggled back into his armor without assistance – something he would have to get used to doing from this point on. He made a mental inventory of what necessities he would require going forward and set about preparing.

  When he finally emerged from his tent in the wan morning sunlight Terchin looked over the disarray and carnage of the camp and shook his head sadly. He hated what he felt compelled to do, for he had a responsibility to these men. They wouldn’t have ventured out here if not for his exigent need. But his quest remained and was as pressing as ever. With a heavy heart, he walked over to the men to address them. Faces pale with pain and traumatized by loss looked to him for leadership.

  Terchin stood before them, took a deep breath, and met their gaze squarely. “This was a rough night. There’s no sugar-coating it – we were mauled. Badly. But you fought bravely under very difficult conditions, so hang not your heads – rather lift them up, knowing that you did your duty. Here’s what is going to happen now. For you, the journey is over. Bury your comrades who have given their lives in my service – they deserve that much. Try to gather some more horses. Tostig, salvage and carry what you can and head back to Eskemar, the first –“

  “My Lord Triumvir!” Tostig interrupted, “But what of you?!? I cannot leave your side now – you need me more than ever!”

  “What I need is for you to obey,” Terchin said, more severely than he had intended. “These men need you. And if perchance some wolves return, they stand a much better chance with three able-bodied men to defend them rather than two.”

  “Here,” Terchin said, handing the sergeant a small sack, “take half of the gold. The first decent-sized village or town you get to, obtain the services of the best healer you can find. Get the injured healed and rested enough to travel back to the City. Lay low, and don’t wear the livery of Eskemar while in the lands of the duke. If we are being hunted now let’s not make it easy for them.

  “Take this also,” Terchin instructed, holding out a folded letter that he had written not long after the sun had come up. “Give this to the Captain when you return. This will ensure that you get all the extra pay I promised you, dispel any doubts that might arise as to your conduct, and furthermore make sure that the families of those who have fallen receive the death pension as befits fallen heroes of Eskemar. I’m sure the other triumvirs will also wish to hear a direct report from you on all that has happened. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, milord. Thank you, milord.” Tostig bowed, and following his example the other men who were standing did likewise.

  “I wish I could do more. Now I will take one of these horses and resume my search. Fare thee well.” And grabbing his pack and a pair of saddle bags he had filled, he mounted up and started towards the road at a brisk trot, his restive horse eager to quit the scene of so much death.

  Terchin was relieved – somewhat ashamedly – to leave this lethal setback, this unadulterated failure behind him. He was on his own, now. Perhaps it was better this way. At least from here on out there would be no more blood on his hands.

  *      *      *

  Oreus had lost track of time. Had it been days? No, surely longer than that. Weeks? Even the division between day and night had started to blur, as if the wide world had faded, obscured by a mist that erased particulars and details. The occasional obstacle would present itself, but aside from that, all was disregarded. His existence was limited to the path before him and the compulsion that led him on, ever forward.

  But he was close to the end of his journey now. The feeling was unmistakable, though rather than granting him a measure of relief it merely coerced him into greater effort. Exhaustion was his constant companion.

  He was no longer mounted. He had ridden his first horse to the point of collapse and he had left it, a quivering wreck, in a nameless stable and bought another. That he had spurred on relentlessly until it had dropped to the ground, sending him tumbling forward. It gasped and shuddered, but Oreus was already on his way before the maltreated beast drew its final breath.

  He was dimly aware that a city was laid out to his left, where the land dropped away from the road to level out in a lush plain to greet a meandering river. Ahead of him several carts and wagons were taking the spur of the road that forked off, traders and farmers conveying their goods to market. However, he only had eyes for the new sight that greeted him.

  A fortress loomed before him, a profusion of turrets and towers projecting from behind a massive wall crowned with battlements and bristling with jagged crenels. A bridge supported by several stone arches spanned over a moat to a monumental gate.

  Though he did not know it, it was the main gate of Fortress Stahrcote. The formidable gatehouse, constructed over three centuries ago, had withstood many an assault and had never been breached – though the fortress had once been taken during a dynastic struggle via treachery. But the gate did not impede the progress of Oreus. Instead, it readily swung inward at his approach, as if he was expected.

  He staggered into a courtyard and stopped. Confusion gripped him as his former compulsion dissipated, leaving him spent and bereft of purpose for the first time in ages. He was here, wherever “here” was, and to serve what purpose he could not say. In bewilderment he looked about him, tottering a bit as his last reserves of strength were used to keep him on his feet. He did not even notice the rapid approach of a pair of guards and a man in fur-trimmed robes.

  The man in the robes gestured wordlessly and one of the guards threw a net over Oreus. He barely had time to turn before the other, armed with a truncheon, took a swing that caught him on the back of his left knee, causing his leg to immediately buckle. The guard then kicked out with one booted foot and finished the maneuver, sweeping the legs of Oreus out from under him. Falling awkwardly onto the flagstones, he had just enough time to raise his head before the truncheon descended again, knocking him senseless. The guards made sure the fallen youth was bundled up in the net, then lifted him up and began carrying him into a building that already had a door ajar to admit them. The man in the robes followed closely behind, hands fluttering in agitation, cautioning them to be careful with their burden. As they disappeared down a flight of steps that led into the labyrinthine cellars of the fortress, the man said to himself, “Looks to be a fine specimen, the duke will surely be pleased.”

  *      *       *

  After another two days of hard riding, pushing his mount as much as he had dared, the road brought Terchin to the city of Rosscaster, near the heart of the duchy. Now there were several possible routes of which Oreus might have availed himself. Terchin had harbored a hope, even though he suspected it was a futile one, that he might overtake Oreus on the road. While riding he had entertained the occasional daydream of a reunion with his son, thinking of what he would say to him when they met. But alas, this was not to be.

  Terchin had not been in the city long, but he was already frustrated. He didn’t have any contacts here. Neither merchants nor thieves of acquaintance could he seek out for information. If there was a thieves guild - which was questionable in a city of such modest size - he had no idea where it was, and the means of ferreting it out would probably take days if not weeks – time he didn’t have.

  Probably, he reflected, any organized group of thieves would be on to him well before the reverse. And if they were alerted that a newcomer was looking for them and they didn’t want to be found, then that avenue of inquiry became even more difficult to pursue. To make matters more complicated, he was at a point where disclosure of his identity and position was much more of a liability than an asset. The only advantage he possessed was that he still had a decent amount of coin to grease the wheels of conversation. He could buy men drinks and ply them for information, or he could go directly to the source and discreetly engage tavern keepers, compensating them for anything useful they divulged – provided they were amenable to such an arrangement. But this time-honored approach had not yet proven useful, and Terchin was conscious that as each hour passed the trail of Oreus grew colder.

  Though it was only mid-afternoon, he had already patronized The Laughing Goblin, The Trusty Spigot, Traveler’s Delight, Derrick’s Den and now The Swine & Flagon. But none of these had yielded anything. No one had seen – or admitted to seeing – Oreus, either alone or in the company of others. Admittedly, the search was for the proverbial needle in a haystack. It was quite possible that he would run through all the pubs and fleshpots in Rosscaster before the day was through. And what then? What would he do if he learned nothing? Get back on the road? Attempt to question guards? Try to gain entrance to the city jail to look over the inmates in case Oreus had been incarcerated? Rent a room and prowl the alleys and avenues night and day, like a revenant with unfinished business among the living?

  All he had been able to learn was that the duke did not have a palace within the confines of the city, preferring to reside in an ancestral fortress an hour’s ride away. The people he encountered thus far were reticent when it came to discussing their liege lord. Not a good sign. He needed a better plan than what he currently had. Maybe he could find someone again who had recourse to powers of divination...

  Overcome by a bout of disgust at his failure he left The Swine & Flagon and stormed out into the street, the sunlight making him squint. He shielded his eyes with one hand as he strode off to explore a quarter of town he had not yet visited.

  “A moment, if ya please,” a voice accosted him. Terchin whirled around, his hand on the hilt of his sword. He stifled a curse, upset at himself for being unaware a man had approached him from behind.

  The speaker had emerged from the tavern right behind him. He was a man in his early twenties, scrawny, as if he was undernourished or perhaps had a wasting disease, with sunken cheeks and a week’s worth of stubble on his face. He was clad in leather breeches and a coarse tunic, with a dirk hanging low from a wide belt on one side, and a hatchet on the other. He looked at Terchin with somber eyes that smoldered, hinting at concealed ferocity.

  Terchin said nothing, just stared at the man, waiting for him to elaborate.

  “Heard you lookin’ for someone,” the man continued. “Might be we can help each other out.” He had a flat, toneless way of speaking as if it was a chore he did only when absolutely necessary.

  “Oh? How’s that – you know something?” Terchin tried to sound non-committal rather than hopeful. It would not do to let his eagerness show. That would only raise the price.

  “Got some people you might want to meet. Follow me,” and without looking to confirm that Terchin would indeed follow he walked off, abruptly turning onto the next narrow street. Terchin followed.

  The pair strolled in silence for several more blocks. Terchin restrained the urge to interrogate his new acquaintance. He wondered if the people he was going to imminently meet would prove helpful or just stage another ambush. Well, even if he was alone, he was alert this time and had a few tricks up his sleeve. At least something was happening, which was preferable to cooling his heels while trying to devise a new course of action.

  The man stopped in front of a ramshackle building and looked around to see if anyone was watching. From the sign, which contained no text but had a painting of a sheaf of various plants tied together with string, Terchin deduced it was an herbalist’s shop. “In here,” the man said, indicating the front door with a nod of his head.

  They entered just as a woman toting a basket came in from a doorway on the opposite wall. She looked at them with a frown, first at the other man and then at Terchin. “What’s all this, then? I don’t care for unannounced strangers, Kestrom.”

  “Deena,” the man said, “this one here’s got a problem like ours. Thinkin’ maybe we should have a talk.”

  Deena was a compact woman in her late twenties, with a round, tanned face and dark brown hair secured in a tight braid. Other than a white ribbon woven into her braid she made no concessions to femininity. She wore an apron over a plain green dress.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  She gave Terchin an appraising look. Terchin was not sure he passed muster, but she nodded after a moment. “Let’s go in the back,” she said.

  It was a humble shop, little more than a hovel, with a front room for customers and a back room for storage. The latter also had a preparation area for grinding up herbs, and pots and cauldrons to steep the leaves and make teas and more concentrated liquids to serve either as remedies or reagents for apothecaries and alchemists. Shelves were laden with rows of glass jars containing herbs, some finely ground and others holding entire leaves, many kept dry but others soaking in oil or vinegar. There also was a small root cellar for storing certain tubers and roots accessed via a wooden hatch in the floor. A ladder went up to a loft when Deena slept, the garret ventilated by a window at either end. The rear one was broken and covered with a frayed, ragged cloth.

  Bundles of drying plants hung from the ceiling in various stages of desiccation, sheaves of scorpion grass, sprigs of rosemary and sage, branches of witch hazel and willow, holly with the bright red berries still on them, and many more species of flora that Terchin did not recognize.

  When the three were in the room, Deena went up to the back door and rapped on it a few times. Then she said, “It’s all right, you can come in.”

  The door opened to reveal a broad-shouldered dark-skinned man decked out in expensive silken garments, though they were a bit worse for wear. Saffron pantaloons contrasted with a purple tunic under a sleeveless leather doublet that matched soiled boots. The newcomer was approaching middle age but was still fit and well-muscled. He was shaved bald, his ears pierced with rings of gold. A heavy gold chain hung around his neck and his fingers were bedecked with more rings, several of them sporting glistening jewels. In one hand he carried a dagger with a wicked curve blade, and in the other he had a bronze buckler, the boss of which sprouted a short but sharp spike. The man fairly growled when he saw Terchin.

  Terchin was starting to feel cramped in the chamber and made sure to position his back next to the door he had used, just in case. They all stared at each other for a tense moment, then Deena said in a matter-of-fact voice, “So, this is Kestrom, in case he didn’t already tell you. He’s not one for talking a lot. I’m Deena, and this is my shop. And this is Bulbossa. And that’s all you’re getting until you tell us who you are and what you’re after.”

  “Have a seat,” she said curtly, gesturing to a stool that was tucked beneath a trestle table. “And keep your voice low, if you please. Never know who might be passing by. Now, spill.”

  Terchin reluctantly did as he was bid, thinking about what he would say. He knew better than to attempt charming pleasantries with this group. His inclination was that the less he said, the better. He needed to learn more from them than the other way around. But he had to disclose something substantive, and he preferred to eschew falsehood, as that always came with its attendant risks. Still, he could omit certain details.

  So he told them of Oreus and how his son had suddenly quit Eskemar, supplying a detailed description. He related his suspicions about the duke’s involvement, leaving out the attack on the road. He also neglected to mention his lofty position. Nonetheless, it was still an engaging story that he crafted, and he was not shy about relating his prowess and experience in thieving.

  “I am a stranger in this land,” he concluded. “I’m not sure what my next step should be. If you know or have seen anything that would be helpful, I would be more than happy to pay handsomely for any information that leads me to the return of my son. And if any of you are available for hire, we can negotiate terms. Obviously, I need all the help I can get.”

  “We are not for hire,” Bulbossa declared. “We have our own purpose.”

  “But mayhap our courses align and we can do a good turn for each other,” said Deena thoughtfully. She looked at her partners, who both gave her what she sought by silently conveying assent. “I think we can put our cards on the table.” Her mien had softened a bit as she listened to Terchin, and she had nodded as if this was an all-too-familiar tale.

  “You need us,” Deena averred, “but we need you, too, since we also are having some trouble making headway. The three of us all have our grievances with Duke Tolthurdine of Stedemark. There are scores to settle. Kestrom came here just after the new year, and Bulbossa arrived one moon ago.”

  “I myself have been in Rosscaster going on two years now. Since I have dwelled here for such a lengthy time, I needed a source of income – hence this place. But the shop also serves as a cover. I mostly gather these plants on the land between the city and Fortress Stahrcote. It’s a good way to spy on what the duke’s household is up to. If I hike to the top of the ridge to the north I can even get a partial view into the fortress courtyard and gardens.”

  Terchin trusted his instincts and was rarely proven wrong in his assessment of the character of people he encountered. His instincts told him this group could be invaluable. But this was also taking a lot of additional risk. There was no way to get true assurances, but if he was going to hazard not only his own life but also that of his son by associating with this trio, then he needed to get all the information he could get.

  “Usually I don’t pry into people’s private affairs, but in this case I am going to have to make an exception. Exactly why are you all so hell-bent on getting to the duke? What did he do to you – did he fail to pay you for a job or something? Dispossess you of your lands?” He knew the answer had to be more personal than that, but he hoped that would goad at least one of them into providing an honest answer.

  Deena bristled. “What’s between me and the duke is my own affair. When the time comes, you’ll know. But for now, it’s enough for me to say that I need to see that bastard suffer.” Her vitriolic tone made Terchin call to mind the venerable adage about the fury of women scorned. She would bear keeping an eye on, he thought.

  Kestrom sat on his stool, stolidly whittling on a piece of wood with his dagger, disregarding the curled shavings that were landing on his boots. He did not look up but remained intent on his task. A laconic one, Terchin mused. A man of few words, but perhaps capable of much action.

  “So we’re sharing now, are we?” His voice had a weary, sardonic tone. Terchin hoped the man didn’t have a death wish. Some fatalism was acceptable, even to be expected, but he didn’t want to depend on someone who was completely willing to throw his life away. If a man didn’t value his own life, then he sure as hell wouldn’t value anyone else’s.

  “My brother and I were woodsmen. I was a lad of twelve summers when the spotted fever took our crofter parents. We couldn’t keep up with the payments on the cottage, so we abandoned it and lived in the Stonewood. We made multiple dugout shelters, and we hunted and fished and trapped. Sometimes we traded furs and skins in the villages that bordered on the forest. It was a life marked by hardship, but we had freedom, and we went where we willed. We lived off the land using naught but our wits and resourcefulness without resorting to banditry. My older brother taught me everything he knew and we learned much together, and before a year had lapsed I knew how to forage, track animals and set snares, fletch arrows, and the right way to flick a fishing rod so that the spotted silverfish would leap up out of the streams in their eagerness. We had all of life’s necessities, and discovered the ways of the deep woods, the songs of the birds, the paths of the deer, the dens of the rock lions, and where to dig for roots, and which mushrooms and berries to eat, and which to avoid.”

  Kestrom paused and put down his piece of wood. He blew fragments from the blade of his dagger and sheathed it. Then he stared into the flames of the cookfire. Finally he resumed his tale.

  “We had a good run of it. But at length, about two years ago, we were set upon by game wardens of the duke, who had been conducting a big hunt. Surrounded, we were disarmed and marched to the encampment of the hunting party. We were brought before the duke at spearpoint. The duke declared that, as we were poachers trespassing in his personal hunting ground and obviously had been depriving him of game for years, we should make up for it by providing sport for him ourselves. Then we were turned loose and given a count of one hundred as a head start. After that, the hounds were loosed and the chase began.

  “The two of us didn’t stand a chance. But my brother proposed we split up, and bade me wade across a nearby stream while he went the other way. I understand now that he deliberately led them away from me. I never saw him alive again.

  “His ploy was successful, and I managed to elude capture. But the next day I overcame my fear and returned to the area, finding the body of my brother sprawled face down in a bed of ferns, a spear sticking from his back as if he had been a boar run down on horseback. And since that day, with no family left in the world, my sole desire is for revenge.”

  Kestrom turned and rummaged through a knapsack in a corner of the room and brought out an elongated bundle of animal skin. Untying a bit of twine, he carefully unrolled the skin to reveal a narrow case of varnished hardwood. Intrigued, Terchin squinted at the object. It seemed an unusual possession for the young man. Sliding open the case, Kestrom revealed it contained a single arrow nestled in velvet folds. The arrow gleamed in the dusky room and faintly pulsed with arcane power. One didn’t need to be a mage to identify this as an enchanted weapon.

  “Recently I obtained this from a pair of elf siblings – a brother and sister who were traversing the wood. We shared a campfire one evening and got to talking, sharing our misfortunes. When learning of my tale, their hearts were moved and they gifted me this arrow. For they themselves had suffered persecution at the hands of the duke and were endeavoring to flee his dominion as soon as they could manage it. The arrow was from a quiver of such crafted by their grandfather a century ago. Each one was used to slay a great foe, and it was one of only a remaining pair. They assured me its point is so sharp yet hard that it can pierce the thickest armor or the hide of a dragon. If that wasn’t enough, on impact it sets off a small explosive charge contained within the head, causing a blast that will rend a target’s insides. If I ever get the chance, I shall send this arrow straight into Tolthurdine’s heart.” Having made this declaration he then lapsed back into his customary taciturn manner.

  Terchin nodded at him gravely in acknowledgment of his tale. What words would be a fitting response? There were none he could supply. After a respectful pause, he turned to Bulbossa, who had been pacing restlessly back and forth across the room like an angry panther.

  “And you, Bulbossa?”

  The dark man bared his teeth in a growl.

  “Know you that I was a corsair prince, with my own fleet – a score of sleek vessels that plied the straits of Yindizar and the Sea of Amaranthe. That stretch of ocean was mine, to do with what I liked, and woe be unto those who gainsaid me. Six cities paid me tribute! I ravaged the fleets of rich merchants and broke up the slave markets of Khmeksan. I sacked the harbor of Enkhol-wat and chased out the Merradian garrison, who have yet to work up the courage to return. Yet my son Bhettu was snatched from under my very nose and somehow spirited away.”

  “How did it happen?” Terchin asked with interest. It had not occurred to him that there might be other young men who also had been ensnared by the duke.

  “I know not, but I suspect foul sorcery was involved.” And Bulbossa spat in disgust and then made a sign of protection with his fingers, as was the custom of the coastal peoples.

  “And you tracked him here?”

  “In my wrath I scoured the coast and put many to the question, and none who I deemed false were spared the pain of steel and fire. Bhettu was last seen in a betting parlor where a certain man seemed to take an interest in him. Getting a detailed description of this man, I was able to determine after many months that, though he traveled widely, he came and went from this city. So in this city must the answers lie.”

  “Have you uncovered why your son was taken? What nefarious purpose do these abductions serve?”

  “No, but it does not matter,” Bulbossa declared. “I will get Bhettu back if he is alive, or kill Duke Tolthurdine if he is dead.”

  “Meaning no disrespect,” said Terchin, in a way he hoped would assuage any rancor his next question might elicit, “but if you had a fleet of ships, why is it that none of their crews are with you?” Sheepishly Terchin realized that the others could have posed a similar question to him if they knew his true title as a ruler of Eskemar. But details mattered.

  “I told my story,” Bulbossa sniffed. “You can believe it or not, as you choose.” He set down his buckler on the table next to him and finally sheathed his dagger. After a grimace that hinted at unpleasant recollections, he decided to elaborate.

  “Well, after Bhettu vanished all my thoughts, waking and sleeping were of him and of trying to find out what happened. Corsairs and buccaneers are a mercenary lot, and months of chasing leads instead of plundering were not to the liking of the men. In twos and threes the ships deserted me until I was left with none but my flagship. And at length, the crew lost the fear and respect that enabled me to command them, so the whoresons proclaimed a new captain. I was set ashore with a half dozen men who remained loyal to me. These followed me on my quest, only for them to die of swamp sickness or fall prey to creatures of the marshes as we made our way inland from the Ocochrine estuary. One day I found myself all alone, and have been that way since until I made the acquaintance of Deena and Kestrom here. The last few weeks we have been scouting the fortress and making a note of who comes and goes, and when.”

  “Ah, useful,” said Terchin in approval. At least these new comrades were not rash fools.

  “We did note a rather singular occurrence,” said Deena, who searched the eyes of her companions. After they nodded, she resumed. “Two days ago a lad traveling alone walked right up to the gate – which opened for him without delay. He matches the description of your son. That’s the primary reason why we decided to take you into our confidence.”

  “Really?“ Terchin was now alight with eagerness. This disclosure made him more hopeful than he had been since the affair began. He wanted to jump up and run out of there and scale the fortress walls right away, sudden enthusiasm lending him fresh energy. “I must get inside. And the sooner the better!”

  “Do you intend to go it alone?” Deena asked. “We all need to get inside. And it’s a big place – it would be easier for a group to cover such a large complex.”

  “I need to get in – but when I find my son I also need to safely get out. That may prove rather hard to do if an entire castle is roused to capture the duke’s killer.”

  Bulbossa nodded in grudging agreement. “I share that concern. But we should be able to come up with a way to satisfy everyone. It is better that we work together. We are all different, but there is strength in numbers.”

  The notion resonated with Terchin. He knew from long experience that a group – provided they were united rather than fractious - could accomplish much more through coordinated action than an individual could. The question came down to trust and competence.

  Bulbossa certainly appeared formidable, but could he be trusted? Terchin didn’t know what Deena’s capabilities were aside from her plant lore, but she seemed a determined woman who would keep her head in a stressful situation. He also believed that women often had an easier time operating in a setting like a palace because they were not perceived as a threat. Kestrom was a wild card; he seemed like he had the makings of a capable rogue, even if his skills were more in the realm of woodcraft and hunting. But he had a sullen intensity about him that made Terchin wary, or perhaps it was that he was akin to a mistreated dog that was one beating away from snapping and losing itself to all-consuming rage.

  Whatever his misgivings though, Terchin was aware that he would not likely find another group of willing confederates for the sort of enterprise he was attempting. Were they ideal? No, but this discontented lot might be exactly what he needed. Falling in with these renegades could be construed as a genuine stroke of good fortune. It might even constitute an insult to the goddess of luck to spurn their offer...

  Terchin slapped his knee in decision. “I say, let us join in common cause,” he announced.

  “So be it,” said Bulbossa, who then broke into a wide grin.

  Kestrom nodded grimly in satisfaction.

  “Let oaths of blood be sworn,” said Deena in a momentous voice.

  All bobbed their heads in agreement. The small cuts were made, and the drops of blood mingled and the words solemnly spoken. The blood oaths to Aethos, god of honor and mores, would bind them in a pact until their objectives had been achieved or until death claimed them. None would betray or abandon the others until Duke Tolthurdine was thwarted and had paid for his misdeeds.