Blades Of Magic: Crown Service #1 (9 page)

Sara got up from the workbench where she had been sawing through extra planks in case Cormar got another shipment in and cracked her back. Stretching, she twisted her arms to loosen them and walked around. They had been hearing the slow shuffle of feet and excited chatter of the workers leaving the fishery nearby for the last ten minutes. She went to the door to head one off.

“Where are you going?” Ezekiel called out from where he was busy nailing the last plank onto a nearby bench.

“To catch a messenger,” she said as she walked out the door.

Spying dozens of young boys alongside their older mothers, she whistled sharply to catch the attention of one. A towheaded boy looked over at her. She stepped just a few feet away from the warehouse door. Far enough that he could be sure she didn’t plan to grab him and whisk him inside but close enough that a thief couldn’t sneak by behind her back. She tossed a shilling in the air and the flash of bronze in the sun’s rays made up his mind.

He trotted over to her.

She flipped the coin between her fingers as the urchin watched her warily from a distance.

“Whaddaya want?” he called out.

“A message. Nothing more,” she said. “One coin for delivery near the meat market. Two more if you return with something with you.”

He shifted while indecision warred on his face. Urchins had to be careful about whom they took jobs from. Not everyone in the city would treat them right, especially depending on the message received.

“What kind of message?” he said

“Nothing bad. Just news to my mom,” she reassured him.

He sniffed. “Yeah, all right. What do you want back?”

She smiled and tossed the coin alongside a
home marker
to him. The small trinket would lead him straight to her doorstep.

“My sword.”

He caught them in the air deftly, pocketed the marker, bit the coin, and spit onto the road. “Back in an hour.”

“See that you are.”

He turned and she cleared her throat. “The message.”

He turned with an irritated look on his face. As
he
were doing
her
a favor.

“All right, lady, what is it?”

“Tell her I’ll be gone for one night and a day more,” she said. “And don’t mess it up.”

He left at a quick pace down the road. She wasn’t angry with him. His attitude was his protection. She hadn’t missed the fact that he’d been one of the few without a dam by his side. She doubted it was a coincidence. Sara went back into the warehouse.

She spotted Ezekiel straightening the benches for final placement, and she went over to help out.

“Your message in a bottle went okay?” he asked.

“Fine.”

Looking over at her curiously, he asked another question. “Why did you come here?”

She looked up at him. Waiting on the second half of that question to drop. With Ezekiel there was always more, it seemed.

“To the fishery, I mean,” he explained. “A fighter like you. Skilled and smart, you could get any job you want. There are numerous guilds in the city that would take you on.”

“You didn’t hear what Cormar said?” she said snidely.

“I guess I wasn’t paying attention,” he said softly with a hurt look in his eyes.

She snorted and looked away. A minute later they finished and she went to lean against the wall near the door.

As Ezekiel puttered around with his artifacts, she spoke up. “You’d be surprised.”

His shoulders stiffened but he didn’t turn around as he said, “By what?”

“How many guilds won’t hire the daughter of a deserter. Fighters are a superstitious lot. Whenever I applied they said desertion must run in the bloodline. Never mind the fact that a Fairchild has never, never betrayed their ruler before.”

He spoke in a measured tone. “So your father was a deserter? Why?”

She shifted unhappily, but for the first time Sara didn’t hear derision in that question. Anyone else who had asked had done so with the gleeful hint of a person only too happy to poke salt into the wound. Ezekiel was just curious. Almost in an academic way.

“Tell you what, Ezekiel. You answer my question, I answer one of yours.”

He turned around with a fur cap in his hands. “All right. So—”

“No.” She held up a warning finger. “You already had your turn. I told you about the guilds. Now you answer my question.”

Wariness crossed his face. “What’s the question?”

Ah-ha
, she thought internally.
Now that the tables are turned, someone isn’t so open.

She leaned on the wall and said, “What did Edgar mean when he called you a treasure hunter?”

S
he’d give him credit. He didn’t flinch or evade the query. He faced it head-on.

“I was an old city excavator for a long time. Mostly graves,” he said with a shrug. “I didn’t have much of a choice. I studied for years as a historian of ancient Emres society and Algardian culture.”

Then he gave a self-deprecating smile. “If you’re not aware, being a curator is not the most profitable occupation. Even before I finished my studies, finding a patron to help me was almost impossible.”

Her interest was piqued, as was her confusion. “I understood about half of what you just said.”

“It’s not really important,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Just know that the war changed my fortunes. Soldiers and mercenaries began looting. They would come across new finds in the countryside. When they traded it to a wealthy buyer, everyone involved in the transaction from the soldier to the estate manager needed to know its value. That’s where I came in.”

Outwardly, Sara waved a flippant hand. Inwardly, she flinched. Up until now, she had successfully avoided thinking about the civil war going on in the ‘countryside’ by pushing it out of her mind.

Countryside
, she thought ruefully.
If I wasn’t in Sandrin, I wouldn’t think it so far away. In truth? This civil war is supposedly devastating the entire northern half of our empire. But as a citizen of Sandrin I don’t feel it. People go, soldiers come back, life goes on. At least that’s what we’re supposed to think. But how do you go on when your father doesn’t come back? Or worse, he comes back in an urn?

Sara shivered and snapped out of her thoughts. She wasn’t going to let dark thoughts about a war she’d never see or experience ruin another moment of her day.

With sarcasm in her tone, she said to Ezekiel, “All right, fine. But what’s an emres?”

“Nope, now it’s your turn,” he said with a devious smile.

She leaned back against the wall. “Well, well, well. Our curator isn’t a pushover after all.”

He blushed red but didn’t back down.

Sara rolled her eyes and said, “Repeat the question, please.” It was said a little stiffly. She knew what the question was, but she needed another a second, another minute, another moment of time where she didn’t have to answer another’s person inquiries about her personal life. But she owed him this answer. A Fairchild didn’t forget their promises.

Ezekiel looked at her as if he sensed the tension in her tone. Still he asked the question. “Why would your father become a deserter? He was commander of the imperial forces on the war front. A renowned fighter. Even I had heard of the great Commander Fairchild, and as you have probably surmised, I’ve never been the type to venerate fighters.”

“Really, I hadn’t noticed,” she said dryly. She thought about their first conversation outside of Cormar’s office. It had started with him falling to the ground because of her and had ended with him gaining a healthy respect for her knowledge of dragon rulers but not necessarily for fighters as a whole.

Without pause, Sara answered. “I don’t know why he deserted.”

She held up a hand to forestall his protests.

“I honestly don’t,” she said, “but I do know my father was the most honorable man I knew. He would
never
abandon his command. Not unless he was forced to for the greater good of his men.”

The pain of her words was evident in the tone even if her face was expressionless.

He nodded. “I’m sorry. It must be hard not to know how or why your father chose that.”

She looked away, her mind off in the distance before she snapped back to the present.

“It is and was. I guess it always will be. He chose to be a military commander. Under his leadership were the mage companies, the empire’s soldiers and three of the premier mercenary companies in the land – including both the Corcoran guard and the Red Lion guard. But because he chose to serve so far away I’ll never know. I’ll never know what he died for, what was going through his mind in those last few days or even
how
he died.”

Ezekiel looked at her. “What do you mean how he died?”

She looked at him. Irritation grew on her face.

“I wasn’t trying to dig the knife into your pain or even get a question in that time,” he said, walking forward with both hands upraised. “I really mean it. How can you not know?”

She humored him. “Because the military didn’t tell me,” she said.

He frowned. “But it’s public record. The empress’s forces are required by imperial law to notify families of the officers about how they died—on or off the field of battle. Often it’s more of a question if they can ever really know for sure if the body was too badly damaged for complete analysis. In that case they would tell you something like he perished in the first charge of the battle of whatever. But this, this is a question of how could they
not
know? Especially if they executed him.”

As usual he talked too much. Slowing down, Ezekiel asked, “Did you ask them?”

“My military contacts weren’t very receptive to our inquiries,” she said tensely. “Even getting my father’s ashes back was a battle, and we had to pay to get them transported here ourselves.”

Ezekiel looked the most upset she had ever seen him. “Do you
want
to know?”

“Of course I want to know,” she said. “How can you ask that?”

He said, “It’s not an easy matter for most people to learn their family member was hanged, drawn and quartered, or dismembered on a wheel.”

“I want to know. I need to know.”

He nodded. “Then I know a way you can find out.”

Her crossed arms fell to her sides. “Tell me.”

He looked away. “The mercenaries keep all the records for the imperial guards. Death records. Benefit records. Even deployment records.” 

She scoffed. “Why would they have the imperial files?”

“Because of the war,” he explained, going over to his satchel. “The empress has had her armed militia deployed upon the field of battle for months now. Everything she’s got is there—from her palace guard to the city watch. She needed protection and to keep the capital city of Sandrin secure, so she outsourced out the work of her missing men.” 

Ezekiel stopped and dug deeper in that red bag of his.

“Go on,” she urged.

“Got it,” said Ezekiel, holding up a sheath of papers in the air in excitement. He began thumbing through while Sara watched in mounting frustration.

“Ezekiel!” she shouted. It was the first time she had lost her cool. The first time he turned to look at her and was able to see emotion on her face. Predominantly frustration, but there was some excitement in there.

“Right,” he said with a delighted smile that he couldn’t hide plastered on his face. “It’s the mercenaries. He outsourced the work of the city guard, the imperial guard, and the garrison staff to the mercenaries. One company in particular controls every single piece of military paperwork—the Corcoran guard.
They
would know how your father died.”

She stared at him. “Then the Corcoran guard is who I’m going to see.”

She turned to leave.

“Wait!” Ezekiel said, running to stand in front of her. “Where are you going?”

She raised an eyebrow.

“All right, stupid question,” he muttered, “but what do you think you’re going to do when you get there?” 

“I would think it would be self-explanatory.” 

He shook his head. “You can’t just walked into the mercenary guild’s headquarters and ask to see the private files of their most elite company.”

She said, “They’re my father’s files, and if they won’t give them to me, I will take them.”

“You and what army?” he snapped.

Anger crossed her face and he stepped back.

“I’m just trying to help. They’re not going to like you walking in there and demanding their information. You certainly won’t just walk back out. You think you can take on
at least
five other battle mages by yourself? Because you’re not the only one, you know.”

She said, “I can try. If I don’t, my father’s memory is nothing.”

He shook his head. “What if I said I had a plan to get you those files?”

“How?”

He rattled the sheath of papers still in his left hand. “This is how.”

“I’m listening.”

He let out a slow breath. “Mind if we clear the doorway?”

She looked at the door inches from his back. Then she walked over and sat down on a bench they had used to rest supplies on. He hurriedly sat down opposite her with his legs on either side of the bench. Putting the sheath of paper in the middle between them, he launched into his explanation.

“This is documentation from Cormar stating I have the legal right to acquire and hire a new mercenary for the protection of his warehouse.”

She picked up the paper in interest. Not reading it but noting a gold seal in the corner with an anchor and the pole of the fishery’s wharf on it. Cormar’s seal.

“He was looking for a new watcher before you walked in his door this morning,” he said hurriedly. “I was supposed to go this afternoon, but then you showed up. The hiring form is good for two days. We could go to the guild tomorrow just as planned.”

She pulled up a leg and rested her chin on her knee as she watched him with wary eyes. “I don’t understand how this helps me find out about my father’s death.” 

He nodded. “I guess I wouldn’t either if I’d never been through the mercenary guild’s hiring process.”