“A harbinger of pain, suffering, or outright disaster. And those are the best outcomes.” Braylar turned back to Hewspear. “That would explain all the uneasiness in delivering the news. Well then. That does complicate things. How much time?”
Hewspear walked over to the table and accepted a cup Mulldoos offered. “She found me in the streets two hours ago. Not all that shocking, of course. But still, unexpected. And she wasn’t keen to divulge anything. Also not shocking. I’m not sure why she didn’t strike for the Dog immediately. So, not knowing her business, I can only hazard a guess. But unless she plans on taking in the pleasantries of the Fair, I would expect her soon. As much as you can expect something of one who makes the unexpected her business.” Again, the wobbly smile, as he drained some wine and sat stiffly.
Braylar swirled the ale around in his own mug. “Very good. Well, less than good, truly. But we work with what we have, yes? And just now, I suspect we suddenly have less. Time, luck, resources, something, but less, to be sure.”
I hadn’t recalled hearing that name before. But the exchange, the tone, the way the Syldoon suddenly seemed on edge and eager for drink, in the context of other conversations, other edginess, all clicked together for me. Before thinking it through, I blurted, “She’s your sister, isn’t she? This Soffjian.”
Mulldoos clapped twice, slowly. “You might be a weasel and a cowardly horsecunt, boy, but you’re half-clever, I’ll grant you that.”
I wondered if that was designed to prompt me to try to defend myself-would that raise me in his estimation if I did, or simply give him an excuse to knock me to the floorboards and kick in my teeth? But at least he confirmed I was right. I pressed on, ignoring Mulldoos. “And she’s a Memoridon, your sister. But why is she so unwelcome? I thought the Syldoon controlled them. What reason do you have to-” I nearly said “fear” but knew that would end badly for me-“dislike her presence here so?”
Mulldoos shook his head. “Half-stupid, too.”
Braylar looked beyond irritated now, though whether that was due more to my questioning or the arrival of his sister, I couldn’t say. But before he could chastise me, Hewspear replied, “The Memoridons are controlled by the Tower Commanders. Just as the soldiers in the field are controlled by the Tower Commanders. We both answer to the same Commander. So, when the Memoridons and Syldoon operate in the same theater, they are… parallel. They have their agenda, and we have ours.”
“Problem being,” Mulldoos said, “those agendas don’t always cozy up to one another.”
“That would be perpendicular,” Hewspear offered.
“Well, the Memoridons are plaguing perpendicular then, you old goat. Only thing I know is seeing one show up’s not like to be a good thing. Cap’s got the right of it, there. They bring nothing good most days. Unless of course your superior officer got himself a peculiar cursed flail that steals memories. That thing Memoridons tend to know more about than most. Might be the only time one showing up unannounced ain’t the worst thing that could-”
“Enough!” Braylar slapped the table. “She is here. We will survive her presence as best we can until she is gone. That is all. But if anyone so much as whispers another word about Soffjian being a boon, I’ll nail his tongue to a door. With or without the head. Depending on mood. Are we clear?” Everyone nodded, though Mulldoos a second slower than the rest.
I’d read that Memoridons were used to gather intelligence, interrogate, even assassinate-the books noted little else was known about them, besides the fact that they were shadowy and dealt in memory magic, all of which justifiably earned them dangerous repute. But those accounts were written by Anjurians, or Gurtagese, or the odd Ulldesian.
But given that they were controlled by the Syldoon, not the other way around, I always assumed the trepidation was felt only beyond the borders of the Empire. Even if Memoridons had some autonomy, they still answered to the same commander the soldiers did. I didn’t understand how these seasoned and generally callous and crude veterans could be so disturbed simply by one being in the same city. Even before the arrival of the captain’s sister, the mere mention of the name seemed to rankle the Syldoon unlike anything else. But clearly Braylar was in no mood for more on the topic, so I held my tongue. Which was always a wise move, especially on the heels of the nailed-to-a-door threat.
Braylar turned back to Hewspear. “Now then, Vendurro tells me you have less… troublesome news as well. What of it?”
Hewspear set his cup down. “Well, I imagine the other news changes the complexion, but I have word of Henlester.”
Braylar leaned forward. “Indeed. We have his whereabouts, then? I thought our ears in his house had been… stuffed?”
“If Dothelus or Mikkner yet live, I’ve heard nothing of it. I suspect, as you do, that the high priest has culled his household significantly. Still, we haven’t turned up their bodies, yet, so they might survive. But if so, they’ve given no word of any kind.”
Braylar’s forehead wrinkled and then he asked, “So, then, we have word from the castle?”
Hewspear nodded. “We do. Obviously not verified for a certainty. But it seems Henlester has fled the barony, and is holed up in a hunting lodge. The reports suggest it’s one of three spots. The southern portion of the Hedgeleaf Forest, or possibly further west, one of two lodges in the Forest of Deadmoss. It’s quite large.”
“Not his own lodge here in the barony then. The man is a cheat, a liar, a murderer of whores, but at least he isn’t stupid. These other lodges, they are owned by…?”
Mulldoos jumped in. “Brother priests, am I right? These righteous bastards always stand shoulder to shoulder when it comes to defying the lord of the land.”
Hewspear chuckled. “You do have such a way with words, Mulldoos. True eloquence, It’s rather inspiring, really, a poetic gust. But you do have the right of it. Both lodges belong to High Priests in their order, though in another barony.”
Mulldoos tilted his chair, balanced on the back legs. I had the dreadful urge to nudge him under the table until he fell on his ass. “See there. Brune’s a brutal bastard with an ass tighter than a peanut, but he’s the legal lord of the land, and hunting a fugitive. Those priestly pricks-”
“Live in another barony, as I noted,” Hewspear corrected. “So, if they owe allegiance to any baron, it isn’t Brune. Segwiss, was it, in the south?”
Vendurro chimed in, “Segrick, Lieutenant. Thinking it’s Segrick.”
“That’s right! Segrick. So-”
Mulldoos broke in, “Doesn’t much matter who the baron is, when brutal Brune figures out where Henfucker is holed up, I expect he won’t be too happy with the dumb sons of whores who harbored him. Point of fact, I expect Brune won’t be in the mood to care too much about borders and boundaries, neither.”
“Borders are boundaries.”
“Point being, you wrinkled old cock-”
“All cocks are wrinkled. Until they aren’t.”
“Well, you’re always wrinkled, so there’s that. But the point being, priests are making an awful error harboring one of their own, priestly disposition to slime together as they do. If Brune doesn’t take them out himself, he’ll be complaining loud and long to this Segwick, and-”
“Segrick,” Vendurro corrected.
“Bite my hairy jewels,” Mulldoos replied. “Segrick is a baron, and they have a peculiar way of sticking together, too, least when it comes to sticking it to the priests.”
Braylar had heard enough bickering. “We aren’t concerned with baronial or priestly relations or protocol just now. When is Brune moving? When he verifies the location for a certainty?”
Hewspear nodded. “If the information is accurate, I imagine so.”
“If?”
Hewspear leaned back, cringing as he moved and his ribs, sore or broken, shifted as well. “Brune might be vicious, in his pampered way, but he is also crafty. And after the incident in the theater, he knows there are eyes and ears in his house. He might believe they are Henlester’s. But if he believes they are ours-and clearly the man isn’t overly inclined to trust us just now-well, a cunning man…”