Blood and Honor

Behind the clerk’s earnest face, Solly stifled a laugh at the thought that a name could be false and a face could not. He covered his chuckle with a cough and concentrated on maintaining his disguise as he gave the sergeant a description of Bald Falko.

“I’ve heard no one can lie to a master inquisitive,” said Mordan. “Is that true?”

Tarrel half smiled. “I can usually tell when someone’s lying,” he said.

“But can you force someone to tell the truth?”

“Sometimes,” Tarrel replied. “It’s not infallible. A lot depends on how the questions are asked. What’s on your mind?”

“Now we know where to find Hintram,” said Mordan, “we could just grab him.”

Tarrel thought for a moment. “We’d need a plan,” he said. “He’s got at least a couple of goons guarding that warehouse.”

“Simple,” said Mordan. “We just watch the place and wait till he leaves. I know of a few quiet little spots where we can talk without being disturbed.”

“I don’t know,” said Tarrel. “It’s risky.”

“Have you got a better idea?” asked Mordan.

“Well, answer me this,” said Tarrel. “Suppose we do manage to capture him without attracting attention, and suppose I can get him to tell us what he knows. What happens next? Your fat crime boss isn’t going to be too pleased about us messing with one of his business associates.”

Mordan shrugged. “Once I’ve got what I want, I won’t be staying around,” he said. “I didn’t come to Karrlakton for my health.”

“That’s fine for you,” said Tarrel, “but what’s in it for me? I still haven’t picked up the trail I’m looking for.”

“Well,” said Mordan, “your redhead is looking for the Vedykar Lancers just like I am. If we find them, you might find her.”

“Except she doesn’t know about your friend Hintram,” he said. “I wouldn’t either, if you hadn’t spotted him and I hadn’t stopped you.”

Before Mordan could answer, Solly appeared at their table, looking very pleased with himself.

“Who’s buying?” he asked brightly.

Mordan scowled. “Buying what?” he asked.

Solly’s grin widened. “I found Falko,” he said. “They didn’t take him to the Palace of Justice after all. Guess where he’s being held?” He signaled a barmaid. “Harika, how about some service over here?”

“Where?”

“Go on, guess,” he said. Then, turning to the newly-arrived barmaid, he said, “A large Cyran brandy and another of whatever these two are drinking.” He jerked a thumb in Mordan’s direction. “He’s paying.”

The barmaid looked at Mordan, who nodded. “This had better be good, Solly,” he said as she went back to the bar.

“I’ll give you a clue,” said the changeling, shifting his face into the shape of a fleshless skull.

Tarrel shrugged, and Mordan just glared. With a sigh, Solly’s face went back to normal.

“The Ministry of the Dead,” he said, unable to resist adding a deep, sinister timbre to his voice. The waitress, who had just returned with the drinks, gave him a sideways look but said nothing.

“The Ministry?” echoed Mordan. “Why would they want him?”

“How about those swords?” ventured Tarrel. “Weren’t they from undead troops? They probably want to know where he’s getting them.”

Mordan cursed under his breath. “He’ll tell them about Hintram,” he said. “We don’t have much time.”

“Who’s Hintram?” asked Solly. The other two ignored him.

“Not so fast,” said Tarrel. “Falko doesn’t know where to find Hintram, and we do. Besides, we don’t know that he’s told them anything.”

“I don’t want to take the risk,” said Mordan. “We’re going after Hintram now.” He drained his mug and got up to leave.

“We?” asked Tarrel. “You speak for yourself. I’m not doing anything till I know what he’s told them. And, if possible, what they’ve been asking him.”

Solly finished his brandy and smacked his lips with a grin. “I can help you there,” he said.

Mordan raised his eyes to the ceiling.

“You two do what you want,” he said, and left.

“Don’t ask me, mate,” said the huge, scarred half-orc in the Royal Swords uniform. “I’m just following orders—and orders were to bring him here.”

The Ministry guard looked at the officer and his prisoner suspiciously. The prisoner was a half-elf, dressed in the rough clothing of a laborer.

“Whose orders?” he asked.

The half-orc shrugged. “My sergeant didn’t say,” he replied. “All I know is, he’s something to do with that one who was brought in from the waterfront this morning. He’s the one that got away.”

“Oh, right,” said the guard. “I did hear something about that. In you go.”

“Where d’you want him?” asked the half-orc. “I wasn’t told who to take him to.”

“Typical,” said the guard, grimacing in sympathetic acknowledgment at the incompetence of superiors. “Hold on—I’ll find out.”

He pushed the door partway open, beckoned someone from inside, and a muttered exchange took place. After a few moments, he turned back to the visitors.

“You go with Detlev here,” he said. “He’ll see you right.”