Jack nodded absently, still thinking about his encounter with Elana. She'd paid him well enough, he supposed, if not in the coin he'd hoped for. That was disappointing enough, but he found himself considering her words again. Something about obligations and responsibilities to those in her employ, and the commensurate degree of loyalty she expected in return… dangerous words indeed, especially to Jack's way of thinking. He'd made a career out of avoiding entanglements of that sort.
"Anders, did you perchance ever meet the Warlord Myrkyssa Jelan?" he asked suddenly.
His question was ill-timed, catching the Northman in the middle of a quaff of wine. Anders's eyes widened, and he choked comically, spewing a fine red spray of Sembian wine in Jack's general direction. Coughing and gagging, the Northman hunched low in his seat and seized Jack's arm with one hand.
"Curse it, Jack! Don't bring up that name anywhere near me!"
"No one's paying attention to us," Jack answered. "Besides, who cares what side you fought on in the Warlord's siege? I'm sure you fought well and valiantly, and deserve all the honor and respect accorded veterans of that fierce war."
"They lynched a fellow over in Pumpside just last month after they discovered he'd served under the Warlord's banner," Anders muttered. "He was a carpenter, with a wife and a family, a law-abiding citizen of Raven's Bluff ever since Jelan's army broke itself at the Battle of Fire River. Could you imagine what might befall me, given my lack of vocation? I'd be lucky to spend the rest of my days on the prison barges!"
"The sooner you answer my question, the sooner I'll stop pestering you about it," Jack observed. "Did you ever meet the Warlord during your time in her service? Do you have any idea of what she looks like?"
"I was only a footsoldier in a mercenary company, Jack. Captain Aeldar was called to the Warlord's council more than once, but he was the only one of our company who met with her." Anders chewed on his lip, thinking. "I saw her from a distance on several occasions, riding past with her commanders on whatever business she had at the moment. She wore armor of black, lacquered plate that gleamed like jet in the sunlight. Her helm covered her features." He laughed nervously. "She could be in this room, and I wouldn't know it."
"What do you know about her?"
Anders shrugged. "About as much as anyone in her service, I suppose. Captain Aeldar brought us to her army late in the campaign. We joined her banner only two months before Fire River, so we weren't with her from the beginning. According to the soldiers who'd served with her longer, she came out of the east three to four years ago at the head of a small band of mercenaries. They said that she recruited men in Narfell and Damara before shifting south to the Impilturan frontier and the Earthfast Mountains. She embarked on a campaign of conquest, hammering tribes of orcs and ogres and giants and other fell creatures into a restless horde under her command. It's said that she won their allegiance by defeating tribal champions in one-on-one combat and deposing chieftains at the point of her sword."
"It's also said that she is ten feet tall and breathes fire," Jack pointed out.
Anders nodded. "I don't necessarily rule it out. I'd believe almost anything I heard about the Warlord. Somehow she united tribes that had spent generations killing each other and made them follow her banner. Two springs ago, as the snows melted in the high passes, she led her horde down the valley of the Fire River, marching straight on Raven's Bluff."
"Why Raven's Bluff? Hlammach, Lyrabar or Filur would have been closer. Tsurlagol or Tantras would have been easier targets."
"She didn't consult with me, Jack. All I know is that Aeldar marched us all over the Vast keeping up with Jelan's army."
"What else?" Jack asked. "Wasn't she supposed to be immune to magic? I seem to remember stories to that effect."
"I heard that many Ravenaar mages and priests spent a great deal of time and effort attempting to divine her location and her intentions but failed, and I heard stories from soldiers who'd seen her in battle. They reported that no magic seemed to harm her." Anders paused, then continued, "You should also keep in mind that I heard stories claiming that Jelan could fly, grow to a giant's stature, tear the hearts from fallen warriors and devour them raw, and uproot hundred-foot trees with the strength of a titan. Tyr knows who she really was and what she was capable of."
Jack tugged at his thin stripe of a goatee. He would give a lot to know the truth. Did she still plot the destruction of the city? Or had she decided to pursue her inscrutable goals in some less distasteful manner? For that matter, what were her goals? What did she need the Sarkonagael for? Why did she risk her life by hiding in the very city she had tried to conquer, surrounded by thousands of people who wished her dead?
"It makes no sense," he sighed, waving a hand in dismissal. "On to less difficult questions. Have you any news to report of Zandria and her intents?"
"She's preparing to descend into Sarbreen the day after tomorrow at first light," Anders replied. He drained another gulp of wine, evidently relieved by the change of topic. "Just as you said, friend Jack. She and her company mean to visit the Guilder's Tomb without troubling us for our assistance."
"Brilliant, capable, and predictable," Jack remarked. "That, of course, is the very reason I asked you and Tharzon to watch Zandria's company night and day. I knew that she would think twice about retaining my services for a share of the loot."
"So, what's the plan? Follow her and fall on her band when they lead us to the tomb?"
Jack raised his hand. "No, no, no. Follow her, allow her and her companions to loot the tomb, and then fall on them if need be. First of all, the Guilder's Tomb may be guarded by all manner of unwholesome guardians and devious traps, so we shall allow Zandria and her stalwarts to take the measure of their strength. Second, if the tomb's wards claim some of her companions, Zandria may be amenable to a renegotiation of our arrangement."
Anders grinned. "Ah, so you'll rob her at swordpoint after she's spent her strength in forcing the tomb and removing the loot. An excellent plan, Jack."
"Robbery is such a hard word. I prefer to think of it as encouraging her to generously reconsider our mutual association. After all, I am rather fond of Zandria, and I would hate to have her be sore with me."
"I am not concerned with how she feels about the situation," Anders said.
"Ah, but isn't it better to provide her with an opportunity to purchase our assistance in the event that Sarbreen's deadly traps and ancient defenses put her company in a bad way?" Jack sipped at his wine. "If the right circumstances develop, friend Anders, she might give us the lion's share of the loot and feel glad that she had the opportunity to do so. Now that is a plan."
The Northman furrowed his brow, thinking hard through his intoxication. Anders was one of the most lucid drunks Jack had ever known; no amount of ale or wine ever seemed to fog his wits. "And what if Zandria and her company recover the loot with little trouble? She'll have no need of us then."
"In that event," Jack said, "we'll consider more direct measures."
Despite his best efforts, Jack discovered once again that copious amounts of drink drown one's troubles in only the most transient and misleading manner. Hours of conniving, plotting, and planning with Anders and an imprudent amount of wine developed no certain plans for dealing with Zandria's expedition and did nothing at all to alleviate Jack's concerns about his meeting earlier in the evening or his enemies in the Game of Masks. But he did become quite drunk and had a roaring good time when he wasn't trying to think too hard.