The Hunter was often keenly aware of a problem without Vanderjack even having to mention it. Vanderjack could always count on the Sword Chorus for that kind of thing, especially when it catered to their individual roles. Some, like the Cavalier, were helpful in a fight. The Conjurer, alternately, had saved Vanderjack a number of times by identifying magic as it was being cast; could even allow the sellsword to react before a spell went off.
Vanderjack blocked out the comments of the other ghosts for a moment as they continued to discuss the audacity of standing quietly in the dark. He placed his ear close to the crack in door. He could definitely make out the baron’s voice too.
“… have no right to come in … time of night …”
A baritone voice, in response: “… causing us to pay a visit … highmaster never approved of the attack …”
The baron again: “… leave before I have you thrown out!”
“… simply here to warn you to be careful … Ergothian mercenary …”
At that last, Vanderjack winced. The visitors must be from the dragonarmy. How brazen were they, first attacking the man on the road, then showing up at his very house?
The Hunter returned moments later. “Red Dragonarmy,” he said, confirming the sellsword’s suspicions. “Three draconians, one human officer. Two more draconians outside.”
Vanderjack nodded. “You’ve been very helpful,” he said, sliding the sword back into the scabbard. Alone again in the dark, he opened the door just enough to slip out into the hallway and closed it behind himself as he left.
He literally bumped into Gredchen as he turned a corner in the hallway. The baron’s ugly aide was fully dressed in traveling leathers and had a satchel slung over her shoulder. Was she going somewhere?
“Idiot!” she hissed.
“I was about to say the same thing,” whispered Vanderjack.
“What are you doing out here?”
Vanderjack pointed down the hallway, past Gredchen. “I heard voices. I’m assuming you did too?”
Gredchen sniffed. “Lord Glayward has visitors.”
“From the Red Dragonarmy, I know. I, uh, was on my way to see if I could lend a hand.”
“He’s in no danger. It’s Captain Annaud, from Pentar-one of the highmaster’s officers. Apologizing for the attack today. Says that was a rogue group of draconians.”
“Sure it was. Is he looking for me?”
“I’m afraid so. There’s a price on your head.”
“Well, then. I’d better be off to do my appointed job.” Vanderjack grinned and started back in the opposite direction from the voices.
“You can’t just leave!” said Gredchen, grabbing Vanderjack’s bare arm. “You don’t even know where the castle is. Have you ever been in the Sahket Jungle before? Or any further into Nordmaar than here?”
Vanderjack stopped, looking down at Gredchen’s hand on his elbow. She withdrew it quickly. “Hmm, you’re right,” he said. “I should get a map.”
“Maps are in the drawing room, which is where-”
“Which is where the baron and his visitors are talking. Of course.” Vanderjack tapped his finger to his temple and showed his wide, white grin. “I guess you’re coming with me, then.”
“I am?”
Vanderjack grabbed her by the elbow, steering her alongside him as he continued walking. “As you say, I need a guide. You know the way. I’m sure the baron can take care of himself, and the driver knows how to use a crossbow. So come on and show me the back way out.”
Gredchen sputtered. “But-”
Vanderjack turned. “Look. It’s obvious that was what you had in mind. You’re dressed for the road and that satchel probably has all the maps we need. Am I right?”
Gredchen said nothing, glaring at him.
“I thought so. So we’re all square, then. And hey-maybe you can keep me honest!”
That was what she had been thinking, by the look on her face.
At the end of the hallway and through the kitchens, which would have been bustling with servants in a wealthier household, Vanderjack and Gredchen looked out a back entrance to survey their escape route. As the Hunter had said, there were two draconians patrolling the grounds-tall, hunched, scaly, with wings and tails in mockery of the dragons whose eggs they were created from.
“Those aren’t baaz,” Vanderjack whispered. “See the curving horns?”
Gredchen could barely see them in the poor light, let alone make out details. “No.”
“You need to spend more time outside at night,” said Vanderjack.
When Gredchen did nothing to respond, he continued. “Those are bozaks. Spellcasters, sometimes used as commanders of small units or religious functionaries. I knew one or two who were intelligence officers.”
“So we have to worry about magic?” asked Gredchen.
“Ordinarily, yes,” Vanderjack said with a glance around to scout the area and also to see if his ghosts were attendant. “But we should be fine. Come on. Wait until they’re around front, and we’ll make a break for it.”
A stable, a barn, some outhouses, and a long, low-roofed building that might once have been kennels formed a roughly semicircular perimeter around the back of the manor house. The manor was on a lightly forested property that stretched for some considerable distance back from the buildings, sloping up toward a series of bluffs that looked out over the ocean to the north. Vanderjack could hear the sea perhaps a mile away. The road was to the southwest, but there were plenty of trees between their current position and there.
Once the draconians were out of sight, Vanderjack ran off the months of the year in his head, in Ergothian. It was an old mercenary trick to measure time. Once he reached the month of Phoenix, he tapped Gredchen on the arm and moved away from the kitchen door in a low crouch.
It was brighter than he had expected; he wasn’t sure why, but he could see a lot better out of cover. That was a problem, since it meant he and Gredchen were just as visible to anybody else. As the sellsword approached the stables, he pressed close to the wooden wall, looking across the yard to the side of the manor house.
“Where are they?” Gredchen whispered.
“I don’t see them. That’s odd. They should-” He stopped and held his breath. The sound of chainmail links clinking alerted him to the presence of something close by. A breeze, probably from the coast, stirred the puddles of water in the yard and also brought a distinct smell to the sellsword’s nose: dwarf spirits. It was the favorite vice of draconian soldiers.
Vanderjack drew Lifecleaver immediately, bringing it up in a defensive position in case of ambush. With his free hand, he pushed Gredchen down, hard, against the side of the stable door. “Stay there!” he hissed, ignoring her furious look.
A heavy curved weapon like a machete crossed with a scimitar took chunks of wood out of the wall where Gredchen used to be. It had appeared from nowhere, and it brought along with it one of the bozak draconians. He’d been invisible, but the spell had dropped once he’d made the attack. The other bozak was probably nearby.
“No good being invisible if you’re going to smell like a Thorbardin brew house!” Vanderjack barked, bringing his sword up to shove the bozak’s blade away. The Sword Chorus was with him, watching the battle. The bozaks and Gredchen, of course, had no idea the ghosts were even there.
“It is useless to resist!” the bozak said like a bad actor in a traveling minstrel show. It never ceased to amaze Vanderjack how such a dangerous and intelligent race as the bozaks could resort to such terrible dialogue.
“I’ve heard that before!”
Gredchen rolled away and got to her feet. “Leave him alone! He’s under the baron’s hospitality, you reptilian thug!”
“She’s about to be grabbed from behind,” said the Hunter from about ten feet away.
The other bozak, thought Vanderjack. Mortal eyes couldn’t penetrate their magic, but ghosts could see right through it.
Vanderjack ducked a swing from the first bozak and launched himself away from the stable in Gredchen’s direction. Startled, she dropped to the mud. Lifecleaver cut through thin air but left behind it a gout of draconian ichor. The second bozak materialized, his invisibility spell ruined, clutching at his scaly throat.