Arm Of Galemar (Book 2) (7 page)

“That’s Tilus, for certain.  Then last year the
thieves switched tactics.”

“I believe one of the fosterlings was killed.  A
warning to the duke, if I’m not mistaken.”

“It slowed him down for awhile, but he’s renewed his polices
against crime with a vengeance.  There haven’t been any new attacks against the
fosterlings under his care, except that doesn’t mean they’ve given up on the
idea.”

“You feel they might think an attack while abroad
would be easier than while the fosterlings are under the duke’s roof.  That’s a
reasonable assumption.”

“And that’s why I wanted to talk with you before you
assigned away those two who took down Ronley.”

Torrance cocked his brow.  “The band does not accept
requests for specific men.  It usually leads to trouble.”

“Torrance, you know me better than that.  I’m not out
to get revenge on any of your men.  My boy might be in danger, and I intend to
give him the best damned guards the kingdom can offer.”

“It’s nothing personal, Carrick.  It’s a matter of
never crossing a line you have drawn.  Not for any reason.”

“As a long time contractor,
and
a fair client,
I deserve extra consideration, Torrance.  I’ve earned good faith credit! 
You’ve got to assign someone to the job…why
not
them?”

Torrance bit his cheek while he considered that. 
Balancing the commanding side of the band with the business aspects at times
led to conflicts between the two.  “I’ve already had several requests from one
of my chief officers to have one man floored for the next fighting season so he
can undergo advanced training.”

“Training?” Garroway guffawed.  “What’s left to learn
for either of them?  Didn’t you hear about their fight?  Come now, Torrance.  I
don’t shove my weight around with your band, and we
are
neighbors after all. 
I don’t ask for much.”

Torrance refilled his glass.  He debated.  He sighed. 
I’m turning into an old man.
  “Very well, Carrick.  I can accede on one
of them.  Your timing is better than you know.  I was about to give in to my
officer’s requests.” 
Sorry, Tollaf, old friend.

“And the other?”

“Your timing is not
quite
perfect.  That was
him leaving my office ahead of you.  He’s already been assigned to a different
duty.  I’m afraid I can’t order him out of it.”

The baron drained his glass.  “That’s too bad.  But at
least I’ve got one, whether I end up needing him or not.”  He stood, adding,
“I’d better go on then.  Upon consideration, I realize there are one or two
things I need to tend to this time of year after all.”

“I’ll have the clerks draft a copy of the contract and
send it to you.  I ought to charge you double for such an exceptionally
renowned warrior.”

“I can barely afford the normal fee as it is, as you
well know.  Besides, since I’m the one who told you, you couldn’t charge
inflated fees until
after
I leave.”

“Be that as it may.  Have a nice trip back north.”

Torrance opened the door for the baron and found Head
Clerk Janus waiting on the other side. 
I
love
days that go like
this.

Janus nodded both in greeting and farewell to the
baron, who nodded back.  Once Garroway departed, Torrance shut the door.  “What
brings you?”

“I was going over the latest reports on the damage we
sustained.  You need to finalize the date for the trails.  Wainright said you
were entertaining.”

“Strictly business.  We have our first contract for
the new year.”

Janus sniffed and ran a hand through his wispy hair. 
“That’s a bad omen.”

“It’s a bodyguard contract for the next Arm of Galemar
tournament.  I’m assigning Marik plus three to the detail.”

The old man’s face soured.  “
That
boy again,”
he muttered under his breath.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong!” Janus snapped.

Thoughts of the band’s most reluctant mage made
Torrance ask, “How is his search progressing?  He came to you first, as I
recall.”

“How should I know?  Ask Tollaf if you want to know!”

“You don’t seem to care for him much.”

“I don’t like people who try to soften me over.  First
he tells me he has no interest in joining the band, then he butters me up to
learn all about the trials.  Next thing I know, he’s registering with all the
others!  Little sneak!”

Torrance hid a smile.  He doubted it had occurred
quite like that, having spoken with several people regarding Marik’s reasons
for joining the band.  Still, Janus was invested emotionally in his opinion, and
there was no percentage in trying to change his mind.

“I’m surprised you helped him at all.  That’s not like
you.”

He expected an amusing outburst from Janus.  Instead
the older man promptly became reserved.  “He caught me at a bad time.”

Torrance looked askance at his longtime friend, until
he remembered.  Janus always grew slightly melancholy during the trials. 
“Cleary?”

Janus nodded minutely.  He rarely spoke of Cleary to
anyone.  “I was thinking of him, and cursing all these idiot meatheads with
nothing on their brains but swords.  That boy didn’t have to die.”

Nothing Torrance could say would make the old man feel
better about his grandnephew, dead fewer than two months after joining the
band.  Joining as a clerk at that, not a fighter.

The youth had decided to walk around a training area
for fresh air in the late evening.  One of the band’s few hiring mistakes found
him there, deciding the weaker, younger man could offer him a bit of fun.  Men
like him were the reason none of the tavern owners would bring their daughters
into Kingshome.

“That Marik seemed like an intelligent boy, concerned
with his family,” Janus finished, unusually candid.  “Otherwise I would have
let him rot outside!  Now look at him!  As obsessed as all the rest.”

“We’re all of us rough men, Janus.  We pick the best,
but we can’t choose as we’d like.  There will always be thugs in our ranks.  I
like to focus on the good men.  Let’s go over those reports, then you can draw
up Garroway’s contract.”

*        *        *        *        *

A fat candle with three wicks burned beside Marik’s
head.  He struggled to turn the next page in the book without shifting
position.  Since the window over his cot faced north, the sun never shone
directly through, thus making this a poor location to decipher the tiny words. 
It beat the alternative, though.  The enormous book was propped against his
knees and he needed to be careful lest he knock the squat candle from the
miniature shelf nailed to his closet’s side as he flipped pages.

Tollaf had been reluctant to let Marik take the book
from the Tower, but Marik wanted to stay cooped up inside those enclosed rooms
even less.  On the promise he would read the book a few marks every day, Tollaf
finally assented to its removal.  Which worked out better despite the poor
lighting.  Marik could concentrate more deeply on the tiny words with the
ambient sounds of steel-on-steel in the background, drifting through the town,
only audible outside Tollaf’s walled realm.

And he needed every ounce of concentration he could
muster.  Reading this book was akin to sifting through a well-stocked storeroom
after an earth tremor.  Random thoughts were strewn carelessly over the pages. 
Also, Galemaran had been Natalie’s second language.  Why she had chosen to use
it in her diary he did not know, except perhaps that it added additional
protection against unauthorized snoopers.  It severely increased the reading
difficulty.

Natalie was an…interesting…mage, Marik had come to
learn.  Seeing her life through her diary’s eyes often brought a blush to his
cheeks.  In such cases, he would pull the book closer, hiding his bright color
from his friends.  The last thing he needed was their relentless teasing.

Though still in the book’s opening pages, he had so
far discovered two descriptions that might be scrying techniques.  Natalie had
yet to explain their procedures, instead filling the pages with notes on the
best times to use them.  She used them primarily to keep a jealous eye on her
many lovers.

Which theme succinctly summarized her life.  What
professional practices she engaged in with her mage gift, he had no idea, yet
she certainly employed it in her private affairs.  Every page he’d plowed
through thus far was devoted to ways for keeping tabs on her partners.  Or to
mage workings she had apparently invented herself that could enhance her own
sexual pleasure.  Natalie might not have been promiscuous, but she had
certainly been active. 
Intensely
active, he would say.

And imaginative.  Marik felt the heat in his face
rising again as he deciphered another of her annotations. 
What in the world
is ‘clamraker’s first tool’ supposed to mean?

Without warning, a figure abruptly stormed into the
Fourth Unit’s bunk area.  A figure who had never been there before.

“Mage!”

Marik fumbled with the book, the shout having
surprised him.  Colbey stood in the empty space where the half-wall ended. 
“Colbey?  What are you doing in here?”

“Get your sword and follow me.”  It was delivered as a
directive.

Before Marik could respond, the scout vanished. 
Now
what’s going on?

A break would be in perfect order.  He shoved aside
the clothes hanging in his closet to retrieve his father’s sword.  In the back,
the Nolier duke’s giant blade barely fit inside.  Shifting the enormous book
diagonally, it too just managed to squeeze in.

He took his leather gloves and a cloak as well, hoping
he would be prepared for whatever the scout had in mind.  Predicting anything
regarding Colbey was a waste of time.

The scout stood beside the main door when Marik
entered the dining area.  He immediately departed without a word.  Clearly he
expected the apprentice mage to follow.

I guess I’ll play along.  When did he get back,
anyway?

Colbey brought him west across the town.  When he
continued straight across the Marching Grounds without slowing, Marik suspected
where they might be going.  His thoughts were confirmed when they came to a
thick tree line behind four barracks identical to his own.

The First Training Area, exclusive to Squads One
through Four.  Marik had never been to this part of town despite starting his
third year of residence.

From the wall, Marik had never been able to see
clearly into this training area.  He expected it to open up once inside the
trees.  Instead, he found quite the opposite.  It grew into a thick brush
tangle, much like a forest groundcover between taller trees in a deep forest.

The scout stopped in a small clearing that was free of
obstacles for roughly thirty feet in every direction.  To the north, Marik
judged this sylvan cover might thin out.  He estimated the thicker growth
filled the entire lower half of the training area.  Trees hid the barracks well
enough to nearly conceal the fact they were inside a town at all.

Colbey drew his sword.  He held the hilt in one hand
with the bare blade laying across his other palm.  It possessed a ceremonial
feel, and he lowered his head while rotating his hands.  The sword ended
straight up, the hilt gripped firmly, the other palm pressing into the steel
backside.

His head rose.  His sword tip lowered to an inch above
the ground.  “We will spar.  Show me what you are capable of.”

Marik had half-expected this, and voiced the question
floating in his mind.  “Why?”

“You owe me a favor, mage.  I need to see how deeply I
can rely on you.”

That’s rich!  Didn’t we take down those knights together?

But he needed the exercise after spending the morning
curled up on his cot in various awkward positions.  Colbey cast one quick,
scornful look over Rail’s old blade.  Dietrik was correct; he needed to visit
the armory soon.

The guard stance would be best for openers, Marik
decided.  It would give Colbey the first move, which he would counter…except
the scout refused to budge.  He stood in the same posture, not moving so much
as a finger’s width.  After a full minute, Marik knew Colbey would stay that
way until vines grew around him.

Fine!  Be like that!
  Marik leapt, striking with an eastern slash that would come from
Colbey’s west.  He almost missed the smaller man’s sword move, so fast did it
flick up.  The shock vibrated through his arm.

Marik tried to use the reflected momentum to his
advantage.  He swung the sword around, flowing into a southeast slash.

Before he knew what happened, he lay flat on his back,
straining to inhale through the coughs wracking him.  Colbey’s sword was at his
throat.  The scout back-stepped after making the point, allowing Marik to
regain his feet.

His breathing smoothed while he rubbed his midriff. 
He glared at Colbey, wanting to ask what had happened yet too prideful to admit
he didn’t know.  Marik harshly reminded himself that he was not sparring
against his friends in the Ninth, but an elite Second Squader.