Blood War

"Sounds like a good idea to me," Lisster shrugged and grinned.



"How quickly can we get counterfeit maps drawn up?" Gavin asked.



"Not long at all," Lisster said. "Lynx, one of Conner's mates, was an artist before he became Saa Thalarr. He still paints and draws. I'll ask him." Lynx showed up moments later and was given information on the maps required. "Let's see your drawing skills, young man," he laid an artist's tablet and pencils in front of the spy. The young man, shivering and blinking in astonishment at all the people who were simply appearing inside the room from thin air, lifted a pencil and began to draw.



* * *



"We're moving out tomorrow morning?" I asked, unsure whether I understood this turn of events. The HC held the ceremony with his seven bodyguards the night before—they'd bought four bottles of the best wine to be had in Windle for it. We hadn't been invited.



"We're moving out tomorrow morning," Solis confirmed. "Everything needs to be packed up; we'll leave here before dawn just to make sure the army is ready to head out at the right time."



"All right," I sighed and turned back to my tea. We'd rented a house—the widow who lived there had gone to visit her sister for two days while we needed a place in town.



* * *



Morning arrived, mist-covered and muffled as I stuffed the last of my belongings into my duffle and slung it over a shoulder. I hadn't missed riding, either, although Brownie was happy to get out of the stable. The General rode before me, with Solis beside him and Warn next to me. It didn't take long to get to camp, where everything had been taken down, loaded up and made ready to go.



Red Hand was mounting up already when we arrived; the HC and his henchguards had gotten there shortly before we did. The two injured men had been left behind in Windle and honestly, the physician didn't expect them to live much longer. I blew out a sigh at the thought.



The army moved as quickly as they could but the ground began to rise into the mountains and it was harder going for the wagons. "We'll be through the pass in another week," the General sighed as we stopped at midday to water the animals at a stream. "It'll be better after that, with a downward trail until we get to the first of the valleys. If we're lucky, they'll be there, waiting for us. If we're not lucky, they'll retreat to the farthest valley, which means at least another week."



I nodded at the General's assessment. Wherever we met up with Green Birth, I'd have to make a decision as to what to do. I still hadn't come up with a good solution to this dilemma and it worried me. It rained as the day wound down, too—enough to make everyone wet and miserable in the gradually cooling temperatures. It was going to be a cold night.



The General called a halt at a likely camping spot—at least it was mostly level ground, though we were flanked by thick stands of trees on both sides. The HC got his troops stopped a little way ahead of us on the trail. He, with his seven bodyguards, came to eat in the officer's tent. While he was there, he never said a word to anyone other than his sycophants. He did glance our way several times while he was eating; his gaze wasn't friendly by any stretch. It made me wonder what the jerk was up to. The General breathed a relieved sigh when the HC and his mini-horde left.



The following day was steeper, higher and colder. I had my leather jacket on; nearly everybody was breathing misty breaths during the early morning. We rode into a thick fog around mid-afternoon, making it difficult to navigate. The fog was almost a light rain at times, which made all of us soggy and out of sorts. Four fights broke out after we camped because everybody's temper was so short. At one point, Solis left Warn with the General and took me with him to see if we could sort out one of the fights.



"He cut me off!" One Regular, who had a black eye and split lip, was accusing the one he'd fought with, who was nearly as bad off. He also sported a black eye and a bruised cheek.



"In this fog, that wouldn't be difficult," Solis barked, causing both to take a step back. Two Sergeants were there already, the female Sergeant being one of them. She didn't look happy with the men.



"Do we have to put you in chains, or will this stop?" Solis went on.



"I'm done," the first one muttered. The other merely nodded, hanging his head.



"Put them on guard duty, on opposite sides of camp," Solis ordered, and the female Sergeant nodded, issuing the command as Solis stalked off with me following at his heels. He cursed softly as we walked toward the General's tent in thickening fog.



Dinner was a sad affair, with the fog penetrating the cooking tents. Campfires were impossible and everyone was grumbling. Even I was finding it difficult to deal with the situation, but placed my usual shields around the officers' tents before going to bed. A hit against the shield on the southern edge had me awake and shivering three hours before dawn. I misted outward, to find what had triggered the alert.



The fog was even thicker, now, and I hadn't thought that possible. Fortunately, my mist could see right through it, and my scenting ability hadn't gone away, either. Three Red Hand spies, who'd used the cover the fog provided, carefully made their way through camp and right toward the General's tent. Armed with knives, they cautiously placed their feet, intent on making little noise. Of course, the fog helped with that particular strategy, as far as the humanoids were concerned. I heard them just fine.



As mist I followed along behind, just to make sure of their intent, and when they pulled knives and started cutting into the back of the General's tent, that's when I grabbed them.



* * *



Cordus, Solis and Desmun glared at our three prisoners, who were quaking as the General paced before them. So far, no information had come, but that was about to change. I stood in the far corner of the General's portion of the tent, watching and listening as the men were questioned. No useful information had been offered.



Pulling out my knife—the one Glinda had lent me, I walked toward the man in the center—he was the tallest at nearly six feet. I carefully placed the sharp tip of the knife beneath his chin. "You will tell the General exactly what he wants to know," I said, placing more compulsion. I laid it on his two companions, as well. They talked, but didn't know much.



"We were sent to kill the General," the one on the left whined. "We weren't told why. We follow orders." He had dark hair going gray and looked like one of the HC's mercenaries. More than likely an assassin, brought along to eliminate unwanted allies and adversaries alike. I was standing in my spot in the corner again while the General and the Captains did the questioning.



"Why did the High Commander send messengers to the Pelipu?" Solis demanded.



"We were not informed," the man in the center answered.



"The Red Ritual for the god was performed in Windle," the one on the right offered. That had Solis and Desmun both growling. I had to Look to see what that meant, and it almost made me growl, too. They had a target in mind. Someone that they could accuse of heresy or worse, and the ritual cleansed them from any responsibility for the torture and murder later. I wanted to hold my head—I felt a headache coming on. What new stupidity was this? Only it wasn't likely new stupidity. I figured it was an old, traditional stupidity. Amazing, isn't it, how some people will rationalize anything to get what they want?



"What shall we do with this scum?" Solis asked.



"I don't think the High Commander will come looking for them, do you?" the General looked at his Captains.



"No. He won't even ask about them," Desmun smiled grimly. The three men began to sweat, even in the cold, clammy air.



"Do it," the General jerked his head toward the tent's entrance. The spies were hauled away. I was thankful that I'd been left behind to guard the General. I wasn't fond of executions.



"Can I depend on you to let me know if anything else comes our way tonight?" The General asked me.



"Of course, sir," I nodded.



"You earned your pay tonight," the General said. "I'd like to go back to bed. You can turn in early tomorrow, if you want."



I nodded again and went toward my portion of the tent.



* * *



Belen studied the one who stood on the other side of his desk—the desk that Belen made to appear every time he chose corporeality. It had been several lifetimes—as humanoids measured time—since he'd had this one standing before him. "This is your choice, then? You have all the information?"



"Of course."



"I will be watching," Belen added.



"I understand completely."



Belen watched as the other disappeared.



* * *



The HC's eyes were on us whenever we weren't looking during breakfast the following morning. I'm sure he was wondering what had happened to his little band of assassins, but he would have to keep on wondering. The fog was still thick and would cause problems as we made our way up the mountain toward the pass. I could find my way easily enough but was thankful that the General was familiar with the territory and knew where he was going. The HC would have been hopelessly lost after five minutes.



The fog did cause problems; we didn't travel a third of the planned distance before the HC was forced to call a halt—the General had sent two messages during the day, both asking to halt and camp until the fog cleared. The tents were set up and the cooks had set about preparing an early meal when the messenger arrived at our tent.



"Message for the General. I was instructed to hand it to him personally," the boy said, holding the rolled-up paper back as I reached for it.



"What the hell for?" The General came through the slit in the canvas that separated his portion of the tent from mine. I didn't scent any taint about the boy, but I still watched him closely when the General came forward, his hand held out for the message.



"I was instructed to wait for a reply," the boy dipped his head respectfully to the General. The General looked briefly at the boy—he couldn't be more than seventeen—by his scent, anyway. He looked older, as if he'd been through too much already, and only expected more of the same from his life. The seal on the rolled-up message was broken and the General opened it to read. He seemed a bit angry afterward, motioning the boy into his section of the tent to write a reply. He hadn't asked me to accompany him so I stayed where I was, listening carefully in case I needed to assist the General in any way. My help wasn't needed and the boy walked out a scant three minutes later, a freshly sealed message in his hand.

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