room.
'I didn't know you were a sorcerer, Nightingale.'
The Outremer lord shrugged easily. 'I'm not, really. I just like to dabble.'
'Still, I would have expected you to mention it,' said Regis. 'Since one of the
conditions for these Talks was that none of the delegates be a sorcerer.'
'I told you,' said Nightingale. 'I'm not a sorcerer. Just a gifted amateur.'
'That's not the point…'
'Can we discuss this later?' said Fisher sharply. 'We need a doctor in here.'
'I'm afraid that's out of the question,' said Nightingale. 'We're under orders
not to reveal our presence. Officially, no one is to know we're here.'
'You have got to be joking,' said Fisher. 'If there's one thing we can be
certain about, it's that our enemies know where we are. Both the mercenaries and
those stinking creatures knew exactly how best to catch us off guard. Somebody's
talked. We're not a secret anymore. So forget the low profile nonsense, and get
some real protection in here. We were lucky this time. We won't be again. And
get me a bloody doctor, dammit! If this wound gets infected, I'll sue.'
Some time later, after a number of hasty but effective healing spells, Fisher
and ap Owen made their rounds of the house, looking over their new, improved
security force and checking the faces of the dead mercenaries before they were
carried out. None of the mercenaries had been taken alive. Those who hadn't
managed to escape before Guard reinforcements arrived killed themselves rather
than be captured.
'Which suggests to me they were under a geas,' said ap Owen. 'It had to be some
kind of magical compulsion. Mercenaries don't believe in that kind of loyalty to
a cause. Any cause. We fight strictly for cash; nothing else. I had wondered if
I might know any of these poor bastards, but I don't recognize any faces.
Probably hired outside Haven, to prevent any rumors of the attack from getting
out. You couldn't hope to hire this many men in Haven and keep it quiet.'
'Right,' said Fisher. 'Somebody always talks. Which brings us back to the attack
on the pocket dimension. Someone betrayed us. But who knew?'
'Not many. The delegates, you and I and the ten Guards working inside the house,
and Commander Glen, of course.' He stopped suddenly, and he and Fisher looked at
each other. 'Glen?' said ap Owen finally.
'Why not?' said Fisher. 'He's the only one who had nothing to risk by talking.'
Ap Owen shook his head firmly. 'Glen's a hard bastard, but he's no traitor. Much
more likely one of my people talked to the wrong person before they came here,
and that person sold us out.'
Fisher nodded unhappily. She couldn't ask any of ap Owen's people about it; none
of them had survived the mercenaries' attack.
'That's not our only problem,' said ap Owen dourly. 'Nightingale's knowledge of
magic has got everyone worked up. Admittedly he saved all our arses when the
creatures broke through, but now Regis and Major Comber are worried sick he
could be using his magic to influence their minds during the Talks. But they
accepted him as a delegate and if they reject him now, Outremer will undoubtably
retaliate in kind, and what progress they have achieved so far will all have
been for nothing. So, for the moment the Talks are officially in abeyance until
Rook and Gardener can be replaced. And you can bet Haven's replacement will know
some sorcery, just to be on the safe side.'
Fisher growled something unpleasant, and then shrugged. 'At least the Talks will
continue. That's something.'
'Until the next attack.'
'You think there'll be another one?'
'Bound to be. Too many interests want these Talks to fail. And we're stuck right
in the middle. And I thought being a Guard would be a nice cushy number after
being a mercenary…'
Chapter Six
Naming The Traitor
'This is where the Guard Advisory Council meets? I've seen more impressive
outhouses.' Hawk shook his head disgustedly. 'Maybe you were right after all,
Burns. Anyone who has to meet in a dump like this isn't going to be in any
position to help us.'
Burns kept a diplomatic silence, but his shrug spoke volumes. Hawk glared at the
building before him, and wondered if there was any point in going inside. The
Guard Advisory Council held its meetings in a rented room over a corner grocer's
shop; the kind that stays open all hours and sells anything and everything. The
two-storey building was fairly well-preserved, but looked like it hadn't seen a
coat of paint in generations. Hawk peered into the shop through the single,
smeared window, and one glance at the interior was enough to convince him he'd
have to be bloody hungry before he ate anything that came from this grocer. He
could practically see plague and food poisoning hiding in the shadows and
giggling together. And he didn't want to think about what the unfamiliar cut of
meat optimistically labeled 'Special Offer' might be. He turned away and looked
around the street. Passersby kept their heads down to avoid his gaze and hurried
by the two Guards, trying hard to look innocent and failing miserably. Mostly
they just succeeded in looking furtive. It was that kind of neighborhood.
'I did try to tell you, Hawk,' Burns said finally. 'These people are Advisors,
and that's all. They have no real power or influence, even if they like to think
they have. They come up with the odd good idea on occasion, and they're good
public relations, so the Guard tolerates them, but that's as far as it goes.'
'Maybe,' said Hawk. 'But none of that's important.
What matters is that these people are connected to the Guard, but not a part of
it. They ought to know some of what's going on but still be distanced enough
that they can talk to us without fear of retribution. Dammit, Burns, I need
someone to talk to me. I need information. We're flailing about in the dark and
getting nowhere, and Morgan's sitting out there somewhere safe and secure,
laughing at us. We need a lead, something to point us in the right direction at
least.'
'And you think we're going to get that from the Guard Advisory Council?'
'It's worth a try, dammit! We've got to do something!'
He strode angrily forward, ignored the shop doorway and stomped up the iron fire
escape that clung uncertainly to the side of the building. Burns followed him
silently. His partner was getting desperate, and it was beginning to show. Hawk
stopped before the plain wooden door at the top of the fire escape, and banged
loudly on it with his fist. Someone inside pulled back a sliding panel and
studied Hawk for a long moment. Then the panel slid shut and there was the sound
of bolts being drawn back. The door swung open, and Hawk and Burns stepped
inside. The door closed quickly behind them.
The rented room turned out to be surprisingly cosy. Oil lamps shed a golden glow
over the wood-paneled walls and chunky furniture, and large, comfortable-looking
