2.

 

Axes strapped to his waist and leather jerkin chafing from damp, Bueralan knocked and pushed open the door to Heast’s office. He found the gray-haired Captain of the Spine inside, seated before Sergeant Illaan Alahn, the weak light of the afternoon a shroud around each. “I was told you would be here later.” Heast sniffed. “Promised actually.”

“I didn’t want to deprive you.” Humor exhausted, Bueralan was silent while he pulled a seat into place, easing himself down next to Illaan. “My men and I will leave in the morning. The only question is: do we head down to Yeflam or to Leera?”

Heast’s pale gaze did not waver, but it was Illaan who spoke. “I was just explaining the city you found. We didn’t think you could access it from there.”

“You already had,” Bueralan said.

“Yes,” Heast replied before his sergeant. “However, we don’t want too many people to know about it. I’m sure you can understand why.”

“What else don’t you want to know?”

Heast’s smile was thin. “You mean, what else don’t I want you to know?”

“An army with a warlock general, a Quor’lo, Keepers. Next there will be a god standing in this city.”

“It would be in keeping with the way my cards have been dealt,” the captain said dryly. “Am I keeping much from you? Probably. But anything relevant to your work? No. I really don’t know anything about the army approaching us outside what you have already been told. Now, how did the Keeper react to the Quor’lo?”

“Showed a lot of interest.”

Heast grunted, unimpressed.

“He did heal your soldier,” Bueralan said.

“First decent thing he’s done since he got here.” The captain’s fingers steepled in front of him. “For the most part he and Fo spend their time locked in a tower, having animals delivered to them. They have the staff in the Keep buy them from the market. The same staff collect the corpses a few days later.”

“What are they doing?”

“Playing, would be my guess.” Heast’s hands parted, his left hand touching a collection of organized reports on his desk. “In Yeflam, they were known for certain incidents relating to diseases. The latest was a small outbreak of a skin disease in one of the cities, Xeq, I believe. From what I understand, Fo released the initial carrier in the body of a rat, trying to see just how toxic a mix that the rodent could carry that would affect the human population. After the disease had spread enough to cause a panic, a quarantine was placed while Bau worked to heal those within. They were not subtle about the situation reportedly, and there was a lot of backlash. Times are changing in Yeflam. People aren’t looking for gods any more. No one wants an infallible, almost god-like figure to rule them. The Traders Union has recognized that, and they are using Fo and Bau’s exploits against the other Keepers. When Lady Wagan’s request for help with the situation here arrived, it was, sadly, at the wrong time. None of us expected a Keeper to be sent, but politics have graced us.”

“They know Zaifyr,” the saboteur said, ignoring the sharp movement from Illaan beside him. “That surprise you?”

“No.”

“Who is he?”

“Who he says he is.” Behind Heast, shafts of light faded from the window. “But when I first met him, he was as he is right now.”

“A Keeper?” Illaan asked.

The captain’s gaze pinned his sergeant to the chair, a silent reprimand for his outburst. “No,” he said finally. “But the Keepers are not the first or the last group of men and women with a touch of power in them to walk this world of ours. We may have no interest in the gods, but we would be naive to believe in a world where the sun is shattered, the sea dark, and our mountain a giant cairn, that the outcome of their deaths is not far and widely felt. But you should both know that I only hired Zaifyr after he arrived in the city, after I heard he was in hospital.”

“After he found the girl,” Bueralan added.

“I doubt it’s a coincidence.”

“We should remove him.” Illaan rose from his seat. “He has no place in this city. None of their kind—”

“Sergeant.”

The young soldier’s words faltered, stopped. “I—”

“Sergeant.” Heast’s voice did not raise itself, but its tone, its cold authority, allowed for no opposition. “Sergeant, you will put aside such opinions. You have not distinguished yourself with your behavior recently and outbreaks like this are entirely unacceptable. You will leave this room now and reflect on that. Dismissed.”

Illaan’s hands bunched tightly together, the tension so strong that it could snap his bones. His teeth chewed his bottom lip into his mouth and for a moment it appeared that he was going to argue, though he must have known—as Bueralan did—the futility of such an action. With an abrupt salute he turned, pulled the door open and left with the sound of his boots ringing loudly down the hall.

As they faded, Heast pushed himself out of his seat. Moving slowly, he limped to the open door of his office and closed it. “We are out of time, aren’t we?” he said softly, without turning.

“Can’t be sure.”

“But?”

“That Quor’lo was looking for something and I don’t think it chose the cursed girl by some mistake.”

Heast turned and for the first time that Bueralan could remember, looked old, his age etched into the lines around his mouth and beneath his pale eyes. “But why attack her, of all the powerful figures here? And what will Fo and Bau do when this general arrives? That is the question. Not what will happen when Leera lays siege to us. I know what will happen: we will cease to exist as an independent city if we stay and fight. The question remains to be asked, though: are we being used to send a statement to the rest of the world?”

“What about Zaifyr?” Bueralan got to his feet. “You mentioned the others, but not him. Can we expect something of him?”

“We can expect nothing.”

The mercenary frowned.

“I know him,” Heast continued. “He is a competent fighter, but he is not here because of money. He accepted a quarter of what I should have offered him—and did not even try for more. No, there is an interest that brings him here, and while I do not believe it is for Leera, it is not for us either. When the dying starts he will leave, as I suspect will Fo and Bau. They will leave us to fight with muscle and steel and to suffer the losses that we will.”

“You paint a bleak picture,” Bueralan said.

“Elar is dead and my city will soon be under siege. There is no other picture to paint.” Around them, the last of the afternoon’s light died. In the deepening darkness, Bueralan heard the captain strike a match. The single flame lifted to one of the lamps, lighting it. “Fortunately for you, that’s when I am at my best.”