His lieutenants saluted and left. Perhaps more grudgingly than they had in Rivermost, and no doubt grumbling and grousing. That did seem to be the life of a soldier.
Braylar was eyeing me, “Yes? You have something to offer as well? Out with it. Why should my trusted lieutenants be the only ones to question my every move or motive? With Lloi gone, you must pick up the slack, Arki. I see you wish to add something, so add it.”
I did, though I intended to bring it up another time. Still, no time was likelier to result in an answer I wanted, so I said, “You mentioned the scrolls you scavenged.”
He stared at me. “I do not recall using the word scavenged. Despite the sigil of our Tower, we are not jackals or crows. But what of them?”
“And they are old, ancient even?”
His gaze shifted into a glare so I hurried on. “I have a good working knowledge of a handful of languages, contemporary, as well as older iterations. And if you scav… discovered them mostly in Anjuria, I can make out Middle or even Old Anjurian well enough. I could decipher them for you. Or try at least.”
He gave me an impenetrable look. Those worried me the most. “An interesting proposal. And do you make this offer out of your commitment to our cause now, or because you cannot resist a scholarly mystery?”
Sensing an opening, and without thinking, I replied, “I still don’t know what your cause is, or whether the thing you do and purport to do are even the same. But I do like a good mystery. You wouldn’t need to involve someone else. And I already know the penalty for any treachery. You’ve made that abundantly clear.”
Braylar didn’t answer immediately, a half-smile on his lips, no doubt weighing the benefits of involving me deeper against any mistrust he still harbored. I waited anxiously until he finally replied, “The Syldoon are the ultimate pragmatists and utilitarians, Arki. We recognize talent, use talent, and reward talent. That is one secret to our success and superiority to kingdoms where bloodlines are all, no matter how thin, diluted, or poisoned. So you see, I am encouraged you arrived at the proposal on your own. It saves me the trouble.”
When he saw my expression, my slow recognition, he laughed, and for once it sounded not only genuine but free of mockery or bile or any other nasty thing. I said, “That was why you hired me, and the previous scribes as well, wasn’t it? After testing me, after I passed, you were going to open that chest and ask me to start sifting through the contents. Right?”
He switched to Syldoonian. “Oh, I still have my misgivings. Have no doubt on that score. But yes, you shall have your crack at the mystery, bookmaster. Let us see what you see. But not tonight. Tonight you pack, and we leave early on the morrow.”
Braylar waited to see if I comprehended or not. I’d never admitted that I studied and could understand Syldoonian well enough, though butchered it when I attempted to speak it. So I opted for sticking with Anjurian in responding. “Thank you, Captain Killcoin. I will prepare for the journey and look forward to unraveling the treasures you’ve gathered.”
He laughed again, almost a bark, and shook his head. “I should have known. More fool me.” Then he turned and headed to his quarters. I stood there, stunned that I’d scored a victory, of sorts, and thrilled that I would have something to occupy my time and exercise my skills besides simply recording the murky doings of my patron and his retinue.
After preparing my things to head out in the morning, I stared up into the rafters as I listened to the revelers in the beer garden below, my mind alert and jumpy, as I imagined what secrets or knowledge might be contained in the material the Syldoon had gathered. They wouldn’t go to such lengths to collect them if they were just lay subsidy rolls, or a catalogue of a larder, or anything trivial or mundane. They’d traveled far, and in secret, to gather them, so there had to be something fabulous on some of those pages. Surely some of them. Or at least the strong possibility. But what? What would I discover? Provided I hadn’t overpromised in my linguistic abilities. What secrets would I unravel?
The possibilities were delicious enough to keep me up for hours. Soldiers might have been that excited on the eve of a battle, or courtiers before trying to conquer the chastity of a lady, or maybe sailors before departing on a voyage. I knew my ambitions were modest, even silly to most men. Especially those lacking in education. The idea of spending any time at all sifting through dusty tomes and arcane quill marks would seem the dullest enterprise known to man. But to me, that was what I missed about university the most-the opportunity to explore knowledge, recent or crumbling with age, that those who had come before saw fit to pen to the page in an effort to preserve and protect. There was a certain thrill about coming across even an old subsidy, working out the translation, exercising the mind. And nothing so keen or sharp an excitement as coming across something that had, for whatever reasons, gained a certain value or currency over the years, something lost or critically important or of such significance that men would pay handsomely, or even kill, to obtain it.
I would never be a man of martial prowess, or wealth or power, or even an important one in most circles. But if I could uncover some treasure in the midst of all those pages, then, for the moment at least, I would be worthy, practically invaluable. Yes, Braylar could find another scholar, but he’d already gone through some, and I’d managed to secure a spot in the company, even as I broke into the crate. Maybe because of it. Maybe the captain had even been waiting for me to take initiative. But either way, whether I’d passed a test or he’d forgiven me my failure, he was giving me a grand opportunity. And no matter how few men would understand, or appreciate, it was one that kept my mind abuzz. It felt like I was finally realizing my purpose.
Perhaps tethering myself to the Syldoon hadn’t been the most foolish decision I’d ever made after all.
It seemed like I had only just drifted to sleep to that thought when I felt a hand roughly shaking my shoulder.
I opened my eyes, blinded by lantern light. “What… is it… what’s happening?”
Vendurro stood back, though I recognized the voice before the blurry silhouette came into focus. “Got to move, Arki. Cap says we got to move.”
I looked out the window, and didn’t see the faintest hint of dawn, which didn’t stop me from asking, “It’s not dawn-is it? I thought… the captain said we were leaving sometime tomorrow. Later today, I mean. During daylight, that is. What’s changed?”
Vendurro started for the door, looked over his shoulder, the lantern casting wild shadows on the wall as it swung in his hand. “Bloodsounder.” Said alone like that, it sounded like the ominous clap of a great leaden bell. “Cap says there’s a fight of some kind coming to us. Right quick, from the sounds of it. Cap ain’t like to rouse us and set us in motion unless he had real good cause. You know that as good as any. I can’t explain it, not a lick, guessing you can’t, nor nobody else for that matter, but we all seen that when he feels a thing, it’s got as much chance as coming true as not. Better, if he feels it strong enough. And if you saw his face just now, you’d know there weren’t nothing subtle or slight about it. So we’re heading out to meet it. All of us. Get dressed, grab your things.”
He left the lantern on a hook, still swinging crazily, and pulled the door shut behind him. I heard voices on the other side, as no doubt the rest of the Syldoon were up and ready to move. To head out. To meet some unknown foe in the dark.
All thoughts of scrolls and happy translations disappeared faster than spilled water in the sand. Precious, and gone in an instant, as if it never existed at all.
I jumped out of bed, tripping on the blankets, nearly landing on my face. I hoped the captain was wrong. He’d been wrong at the Three Casks. Well, half wrong. Violence had come, it just hadn’t involved the Syldoon. And when they were ambushed in the temple ruins by Henlester’s soldiers, he hadn’t been able to discern or decipher whatever flickers he might have sensed. Braylar had misgivings, those borne of a naturally distrustful and calculating nature, and he’d certainly expected something. But Blood-sounder hadn’t given any warning at all, or not enough to persuade him.