By the time we arrived at the Tower Commander’s residence, my legs and lungs were burning, and there were spots like dark moths at the edges of my vision. There was a much larger arched door on a landing, with two guards on either side. They didn’t move to stop us, so Vorris wasn’t wrong-we were expected.
We stepped into Commander Darzaak’s quarters. While hardly regal or extravagant, the main solar had far more flourishes than any room I had seen in the Tower so far. The ceilings were vaulted and painted with richly detailed scenes: a mounted hunting part pursuing a golden stag through a forest; two armies about to meet in a blighted battlefield under a large full silver moon; a griffin flying away from a farmstead with a large terrified cow in its claws, the farmer running after with pitchfork; and more besides.
There were small alcoves along the walls, each housing a different statue of filigreed metal sculpture.
A long wooden table occupied the center of the room, surrounded by several equally robust wood and leather chairs.
The commander himself was leaning against a windowsill, the horn shutters pushed out to let in the afternoon light. Shorter than Mulldoos and stockier besides, beyond middle years, a sharp widow’s peak the color of ash, the remainder of his hair charcoal, with prominent sideburns that ran down his cheeks and across half his chin on either side. I wasn’t sure what I expected of a Tower Commander, but he was something of a lord, so I expected brocades or rings or richly embroidered hems, but his clothing, though nice enough cloth, was plain and unadorned, the one flourish being a red sash that broke up his gray and blue tunic, overcoat, and trousers.
He turned and looked Braylar and his men over, hands clasped behind his back. “Captain. You look like shit.”
Braylar saluted and replied, “I imagine I do, Commander. I would have chosen to bathe and to sleep for ten days, and I’m sure my men are of the same mind, but my sister was fairly insistent we report at once.”
“Emperor’s got a bee up his ass about something. You know he recalled the lot of you, and any other Tower operatives in the field?” Braylar nodded and Commander Darzaak said, “Poor maneuvering, if you ask me. Which no one did, of course, least of all that poncy bastard. But there it is. So, Soffjian said you met some trouble on the road.”
It was clearly both statement and question.
“We did.”
Clearly only statement and not an answer.
“I expect you have something to show for the dawdling then.” His eyes were already on Henlester. “Is this the High Priest?”
“It is.”
Commander Darzaak did not alter his stance, tone, or expression, but did switch to Anjurian that was near perfect. “And I expect you are wondering why my men hauled you from your homeland to have an audience with me. So am I.”
High Priest Henlester replied in Syldoonian, though slowly and with an undeniable accent. “They were quite…” he glanced Braylar’s way, “insistent.”
“Course they were, Henlester. But we’ll get to all that soon enough. For now, think of yourself as a very important guest, requiring many guards for protection and escort.”
Henlester showed what could only be called a vulpine smile. “Spare me your pleasantries, Black Noose. Call it what it is and be done with this farce.”
Darzaak said, “And spare me your haughty indignation, cleric. You want to spend the rest of your miserable life in a dark cell with moldy straw for a bed, eating pigshit? That can be arranged. You prefer to be put in a hole so deep you lose your wits and bite your wrists open to end it? We have plenty open at the moment. You like a quick hanging instead? Well, we do a lot of hanging hereabouts, so that’s easy enough to arrange.
“Or, you play nice and behave yourself better than you’ve managed, and we can put you up in more luxurious accommodations than you deserve. Feed you figs and tea and tasty honey crepes, wear powdered slippers if you like, lay your head down on a fluffy pillow, or whatever pleasantries you think a man of your station should be afforded. Your treatment depends completely on you. So far, it’s looking more likely you’ll end up in a hole. But I like a good surprise. Think you can surprise me and rein in your mouth, High Priest?”
Henlester’s smile slid off his face, and his lips pressed so tight the wrinkles surrounding his mouth seemed to quiver. But then he mustered a smallish bow. “I shall endeavor to be docile and demure, Commander Darzaak. It might take some practice, I am afraid, but I will try.”
“And I will try not to clap you in irons or drop you in our Trench.” Darzaak waved over some guards. “Escort our elite prisoner here to his quarters. See to it he wants for nothing. Except freedom, of course.”
Henlester turned about quickly and strode ahead of his guards, as if he were familiar with the way and were leading them.
The Tower Commander watched the door shut before shaking his head and looking at Braylar. “You never seem to capture anyone pliable. Why is that?”
“Well,” Braylar said, “that is likely due to the fact that most of my snares involve the puissant, and not millers and bakers.”
Darzaak sat down at the large table and looked surprised he was the only one. “Oh, be seated.”
Braylar and his men took chairs at the large table, and I grabbed an open seat next to Vendurro.
The Commander jerked a gray-haired thumb toward the door. “So. I got your note about playing the priests against the baron, and I seem to recall you mentioning that there was more to it than that. You suspected that puckered arse might actually be key to something bigger. I’m guessing you didn’t haul him all the way back here on account of his pleasant demeanor. So what of it, Captain?”
Braylar said, “As to the first, when the good Emperor chose to pull us out of Anjuria with no notice, he likely undermined much of our good work there. I chose to kidnap the cleric in part to see what we can salvage there, if the goal is still to destabilize the barony.”
“As far as I know, nothing’s changed there. And as to the second…”
Braylar opened his mouth to respond but Darzaak cut him off. “Wait. Before we get to that, we ought to make our introductions here.” Darzaak fixed his eyes on me. “You know who I am. Can’t say as I know you. And you look awful scribey. Would you be Arkamondos then, called Arki?”
Everyone at the table looked in my direction, and I swallowed hard. “I am.” And then added, “Commander Darzaak. The scribe, that is. Arki.”
“So, Arki, does it make you nervous that the two in line ahead of you died?”
Well. That was direct. I replied, “I can’t speak to the others, Commander, never having met them at all. They must have been capable enough, or the captain would not have hired them in the first place. But I’m also confident there were good reasons they failed to hold the position for very long. So long as I perform admirably, I suspect my chances of survival are at least… better than awful.”
That earned a chuckle from Hewspear and Vendurro, and smiles from Braylar and Mulldoos. The commander, however, wasn’t especially moved to merriment. “Tell me, then, Arki, are you a trustworthy sort?”
“Yes, Commander-yes, sir. I believe so.”
“Believe or would have me believe?”
“Both, if it please you.”
Darzaak turned to Braylar. “So what of it, Captain? I’m assuming you would have killed the boy yourself if he troubled you overmuch. But let me hear it from you now. What makes you think the third will be any better than the previous traitors?”
Braylar replied, “Our young scribe nearly shot me. Twice, as it happens. But in both instances, he did so attempting to save my life. He has served admirably, translating the treasure we have collected. And he had opportunity to wander over to our enemy’s camp, and chose not to.