2.

 

He had introduced himself as Ekar Waalstan, any title unspoken, his authority unquestioned. “If I had been asked what I thought of you, Baron Le, I believe I would have said that you were a man moments away from panic.” He spoke conversationally, friendly, as if an army did not lie behind him. “But now I have the unpleasant experience of feeling the opposite: that you are exactly where you want to be, that you planned this and knew Samuel would betray you. I commend you on that.”

“That’s very civilized of you.” The saboteur raised his chained wrists in a salute. “Thank you.”

The general’s brown eyes held a faint amusement. He sat across from Bueralan, right foot folded gently across his left knee, a gentleman in his chair with his long fingers laced before him. He was calm and relaxed, his body language one of control. Despite the general’s words, Bueralan was caught flat-footed. He had not suspected Orlan’s betrayal: he had believed in the fire of his shop, had not considered that Samuel Orlan—the famously neutral Samuel Orlan—might have been involved. Not that he had much time to ponder the betrayal. The saboteur knew keenly that his life could end before he rose from the hard wooden chair he sat on, that his body could be left on the dark green grass to be trampled over by thousands of soldiers, his wrists still chained tightly. Lieutenant Dural stood on the edge of the conversation, attentive and still, his hand never far from his sword. Waiting for the moment that he could provide this service.

“I have heard of you, of course,” General Waalstan continued. “There is one particular story that interests me, a most recent one where you were hired by a man known as Lord Alden. From what I understand, you and Dark were hired to root out civil war beginning in his own yard. It is said that you spent six months eating his stale bread to compile a list of one hundred and twenty-three men that you did not even send to the gallows.”

“You know more of me than I you,” Bueralan said, feigning ease. “I believed that King Rakun led his armies. If the king remained in Leera, then his son led the army.”

“True.”

“But no more?”

“Yes, I do believe you are exactly where you wish to be.” He turned toward the elderly man beside him. “He reminds me of you, Samuel.”

The cartographer sat on the third chair provided and though he had been subdued since his arrival, his bright blue eyes told the lie of his body. “Am I to be complimented?” Orlan asked. “Or is it to him that you are paying the compliment?”

“To both of you?” the general asked.

“It is a dangerous game,” the cartographer replied. “You should decide either to kill him or buy him now and be done with it.”

Waalstan’s long fingers pointed to Bueralan. “Can I buy you?”

“I have a price,” he said. “I don’t know if you would meet it, though. It might be high for a soldier whose army feeds itself through cannibalism.”

“A regrettable task that some of my soldiers have been forced into.” His fingers were without callus or scar; this was not the hand of a man who wielded a sword. “There are times I thought we went too far, that the illusions we created have been largely unnecessary and will come back to haunt us in the following years.”

“Your soldiers aren’t eating other people?” Bueralan asked.

“No, they are.” The humor in his eyes was gone, now. “They have orders and they have belief.”

“Belief?” he began.

“We believe.” He glanced to his left, to the force that sprawled around him, to the silent soldiers who stood in a perimeter around where the three talked, watching, waiting. “There is a purpose to all that we do.”

“Your war is holy?”

“That is what others will call it, yes.”

“And yourself?”

“Enough.” The man’s right hand rose. “This is not an interview.”

“It is if you want to employ me.”

“We both know that is a lie,” Ekar Waalstan replied. “You cannot afford to, either morally or professionally. Many will understand why you turned on the Lord of Ille once he killed your man, but the question will hang over you and the rest of Dark if you now betray Lady Wagan. Not that you plan to do so, of course—the money that you are being paid is nothing in comparison to the moral need that you all have to prove yourselves to the family of one of your own you feel you let down.”

Bueralan made no reply. He did all that he could to keep his face still, to not let the surprise he felt show in any way, but he felt—

“Now that,” said the man of whom he knew nothing, “caught you off guard.”

—that he failed.

“Who are you?” Bueralan whispered.

“Merely a humble servant.” Waalstan stood slowly. “Samuel, what do you think my chances are of finding the rest of Dark before every well of drinking water is sabotaged from here to Mireea?”

“I would say none.” From his chair, the cartographer had become still, as if he were surprised by the sudden reveal of knowledge that the general had displayed. “A group of raiders stumbled over them when we entered Leera and they were most efficient.”

“Lieutenant Dural, please inform the men that they are to drink only from what is rationed by their superiors.” He moved before Bueralan, an unarmed man who radiated confidence and surety and was all the more dangerous because of the natural way it fit him. “If I killed you,” he said quietly, “I would have five assassins to deal with, would I not?”

Weakly, the saboteur tried to brush it off. “They’re not assassins.”

The general’s smile was fleeting and humorless. With a nod, he signaled for Bueralan to be taken away.