Kellanved's Reach

The man laughed again. ‘I’m sure this is just some clerical error. A mere oversight. That is all. Nothing for someone of your rank, High Fist, to concern yourself with …’

Cartheron nodded. ‘Yes – you’re right, of course. It is nothing.’ He closed the heavy books, one by one. ‘Because unfortunately, what concerns me is that someone will order the Seventh to hold a position, or support another troop, only to find, belatedly, after the battle is lost … that there is no Seventh.’

The man was nodding now, vigorously. ‘Yes, that would be unfortunate. And I promise you that I shall certainly get to the bottom of this!’

Cartheron nodded to the guards. ‘Let’s try.’ They opened the door and two more guards escorted in a soldier, his face an ashen grey. ‘I could not find a Quartermaster Sergeant Nellat, but I did find a Sergeant Tallen. Your son-in-law, I understand.’

The man glowered now, his mouth hardening. ‘You have no proof.’

Cartheron waved for the guards to take them away. ‘That’s for the military court to decide. You’ve wasted enough of my time.’

The bookkeeping staff now started to examine the next set of books and Cartheron peered round, wishing for a drink, as his throat was dry from all this dust. Unfortunately, there was not a drop in sight. He sighed. An easy and egregious case, that one. There were far more sly swindlers out there, but their trials, and the confiscation of their entire estates, would serve as a very public warning to others, and perhaps give them pause for reflection.

The door slammed open then and he turned, startled. One of Surly’s Claws stood in the doorway, breathing heavily, his eyes wide. ‘Come!’ was all the man blurted before he was gone again.

Cartheron nearly dropped the sheets of personnel he was examining. He’d never before seen one of her people agitated like that – in fact, he’d never seen them agitated at all. His first thought was, Gods! Someone’s finally gotten through to Surly. But if so, they’d hide the fact, wouldn’t they?

He nodded to the staff of bookkeepers. ‘Carry on,’ he said, and hurried out of the door.

The palace, just across the harbour, proved to be an overturned anthill of activity. No one he spoke to quite knew why – just that there was a confusion of contrary orders and shifting duties flying about. As he climbed the stairs Napan guards waved him onwards and upwards until he was within the private living quarters set up for the rulers – quarters Surly never used. Now, however, the place was swarming with servants and staff, all bustling about, dusting and cleaning, some with armloads of bedding, others bringing up platters of food and carafes of wine and liqueurs.

Cartheron stood scratching his brow, quite bemused. At least, he reflected, it doesn’t look as though anyone’s been murdered.

Then, as the door to the inner private bedroom swung open, he caught a glimpse of the rake-thin form of Dancer, looking very much the worse for wear, leaning up against a wall, arms crossed. He went to him and they clasped wrists. ‘Dancer! It’s good to see you again. Is …’

The assassin nodded and glanced across the room. Behind a crowd of servants sat a huge copper tub full of sudsy water, and above the mass of foam protruded the shrivelled and wrinkled chest and head of their wizened leader, Kellanved. The man was raising his arms and directing servants with long-handled brushes to his back.

Also present, pacing back and forth, was Surly, her arms likewise crossed, looking rather vexed.

‘Where—’ Cartheron began, but Dancer shook his head.

‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

Wherever they had been, or whatever they had done, it must have been terrifying, as the man before him appeared to have aged years. His face was blistered and peeling from exposure, his shirt and trousers hung torn and soiled beyond recognition, and his boots were split and cracked. And slim to begin with, he had lost so much weight he was now no more than rope wrapped round a pole.

‘And Jadeen?’ Cartheron had to ask.

‘She proved unworthy,’ Kellanved supplied from the bath.

Cartheron crooked a questioning brow to Dancer, who waved the comment aside. ‘Never mind.’

‘Please do continue,’ Kellanved invited Surly.

She clenched her lips tight, but continued, ‘Forces out of Malaz are committed to the east, while a Napan task force is preparing to leave as soon as possible for the west.’

Kellanved nodded. ‘I see. And does this constitute all our forces?’

‘Virtually yes, excepting those held back for defence, of course.’

Kellanved nodded again, held out an arm for brushing. ‘Well, I happen to have a target in mind on the mainland and we must attack immediately!’

Cartheron and Surly exchanged alarmed glances; even Dancer frowned his confusion. ‘What target?’ he asked.

The mage, falsely aged and Dal Hon dark, his chest hair grey, stood from the bath and Surly looked away. Servants wrapped a towel round his waist. ‘I intend to attack Cawn!’ he announced.