Legacy of Steel

12

"Where are they?0" bellowed a hoarse voice. "Tell me now!"

Behind Sara, the five squires slowed perceptively as soon as they realized the one in pain was not their vaunted leader. Knowing him as they did, they had no wish to become his next target.

A faint crack, then another screech of pain, met Sara at the tent's entrance. She threw back the tent flap and strode inside.

A large, truculent-looking man lifted his head and glared at her.

Sara felt her heart contract. She knew that face. It was heavier, more florid, and red-veined from drinking, but she knew it. At one time this knight had been at Storm's Keep. She tensed, waiting for the recognition to burn in his eyes and the denouncement she knew must come. Yet it did not.

He glowered at her furiously, shook the whip in his hand, and shouted, "What do you want?"

Something whimpered on the ground.

Sara spotted a small goblin cowering at Massard's feet. He raised a whip and brought it down across the goblin's back with vicious force. The goblin screamed again and groveled at his feet.

Goblins were not Sara's favorite creatures. She hated their ugly faces and the way they stole from the dead. But she hated injustice more. She took one step forward, plucked the whip out of Massard's hand, and said in a level voice, "If you are looking for your talon, we were at the practice fields doing our training rides."

Massard looked flabbergasted at her audacity.

"Who are you?"

"Knight Warrior Sara Conby. I have been assigned to you as second-in-command."

The man rubbed the stubble on his jaw. He looked dreadful and smelled worse. Sara doubted his clothes had been changed or washed in days. His eyes were bloodshot, and his graying hair was a gully dwarf's nest.

The goblin, seeing the whip out of Massard's hand, scampered behind Sara. "No hit," he whined. "Message. I only have message."

"Why didn't you say so? Get on with it, you pea-brained street refuse!" roared Massard. "Do something right."

"Knight Warrior Conby is to join the general for dinner tonight at sunset," the goblin blubbered, bobbing his head. "At general's quarters."

"The general, huh," Massard grunted at Sara. "Already boot-licking, I see." He hurled a boot at the cowering goblin. "Well, get out of here, you worthless filth. The next time I want an answer out of you, you'd better give it to me, or I'll use something more persuasive than a whip."

The goblin squealed and bolted out of the tent. The five young people stood at attention and watched it all, wide-eyed.

"You can't very well beat something out of him if he doesn't know it," Sara said reasonably. Her consternation faded somewhat as she realized he did not recognize her. In its place grew intense contempt.

"As for you," he snarled, ignoring her remark, "I should write you up for dereliction. You failed to report to me in a timely manner and-"

"Dereliction," Jacson cried, stepping forward impulsively. "When you were-"

Derrick clamped a hand over his arm and hauled him back into line. "Sir," he said in the same calm manner Sara used. "Knight Warrior Conby did report to you, and when she saw that you were… unavailable, she took us on our assigned training." His emphasis on the word "assigned" was not lost on the officer.

Massard knew he would have some explaining to do if he disciplined his new junior officer officially. The man subsided to something closer to his usual bad temper. "Bring me some ale," he growled, and he sagged onto the edge of his cot.

"Would you rather have some hot water and a meal?" Sara suggested. "The squires must attend to their duties, and I would like to know my responsibilities."

"Get me the ale, woman, and shut your infernal chatter!"

Sara's lips tightened to a thin line. She sketched a salute and left Massard to his own foul company. She found the others studying her in amazement.

"Why did you do that?" Kelena asked her.

"Do what?"

"Stop Massard from beating the goblin. He has a terrible temper. He could have turned that whip on you."

Sara lifted her chin. "A knight does not abuse his power by inflicting cruelty and pain on the innocent. It is one thing to whip a goblin who has stolen from you or attacked you. It is another to beat him for something he does not know. It is a matter of justice."

She gave the recruits a minute or two to absorb that. "All right, now. Jacson, run to the nearest tavern and get the knight officer his ale."

The irrepressible young man grinned. "If he stays drunk enough, maybe he'll stay out of our way."

Sara ignored that. It was too close to the wish she had, that if he stayed drunk enough, he may not recognize her. But she knew he had to sober up eventually. The knights were shorthanded, but not so much that they would tolerate an officer who was perpetually drunk. Massard had to be fulfilling his responsibilities somehow.

"Meanwhile," she said, "let's get something to eat and a pot of hot water. I would really like some tea." They went to their tasks, grateful to leave Massard to nurse his hangover alone.

Sara soon learned the knights in Neraka had no central mess hall. There was a supply building where the recruits and knights could get the basics. Beyond that, they were responsible for feeding themselves. They could eat in the city, which Saunder pointed out was too expensive on a squire's pay. They could use a communal kitchen set up in their quarter, or they could cook over campfires outside their tents. Everyone had a small brazier in his tent and supplied his own pots and pans. Sara decided she would have to do a little scrounging.

Derrick showed her the tent where he put her gear and, with the group's consent, gave her the brazier from Tamar's possessions. The dead squire must have been from Abanasinia, Sara guessed when she saw it. The brazier was small and beautifully wrought, with an interwoven design of fanciful animals and intertwined knots. She thanked them all and then discovered one reason for their generosity. None of them liked to cook.

Resigned, she helped them put together a quick meal of bread and cheese and baked apples, and she set a pot of soup to simmer in the low coals during the afternoon so the recruits would have something while she dined with the general.

The young men and women were pleased that their junior officer had been chosen to eat with General Abrena. They rarely saw the general, let alone had the chance to accept an invitation from her.

Sara did not have time to give it much thought. Evening was hours away, and there was still much to do. Derrick, Saunder, Jacson, Marika, and Kelena left to attend to their duties as squires to five of the ranking knights in Neraka. Sara was left to unpack and deal with Massard.

Fortunately the man spent most of the afternoon in his tent drinking the ale Jacson had brought him. The respite gave Sara a chance to do some exploring on her own. She walked around the perimeter of the ring of tents to see for herself just how empty it really was. She talked to other recruits, to several goblins who acted as messengers and servants, and to a number of knights who were off duty. It became clear to her that, while the tent city was busy, it was nowhere near filled to capacity.

She found a number of other talons-in-training and spoke to their officers. Those talons, like the Sixth, were being rushed through training, and if the younger knights liked it, the older ones did not. The few original knights she talked to bemoaned the traditions ignored and the precepts of Lord Ariakan that were being forgotten. The day proved to be very informative.

To her intense relief, not a single knight recognized her or doubted her authenticity. To them, she was simply one of the lucky few who had survived. For the moment, it seemed the only ones she had to worry about were Massard and General Abrena. If the ale fumes ever cleared from Massard's head, Sara feared he could remember her.

The problem with Mirielle was just the opposite. Sara knew from the intense scrutiny she had received under the blue gaze of the general that Mirielle was very astute and too observant. She would catch the slightest slip, the first wrong word, the moment's hesitation. She night not know of the renegade dragon rider who once called Steel Brightblade her son, but she would certainly know how to treat an imposter and a spy.

By the time Sara returned to the Red Quarter, the sun was setting behind a dense bank of clouds. The wind whistled mournfully around the tents, and the torches in the quadrangle danced in the gathering darkness.

Massard heard her steps and came out to meet her. His walk was stronger, and his eyes watched her keenly. Only his disposition had not improved. "There's a clean uniform for you in your tent, and that sniveling little goblin is back," he said in a growl Sara thought was probably habitual. "You are to report to General Abrena. When you are finished, you will come back and stand your watch on guard duty. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir."

His eyebrows lowered like thunderclouds. "What did you say your name was?"

Sara licked her lips, suddenly tense. "Knight Warrior Sara Conby."

He snorted through his large nose. "Bring me some of that soup before you go." Turning his back on her, he stamped back into his tent.

She obeyed in silence. It was better not to draw undue attention to herself too often. She brought him a steaming bowl of soup and backed out before he thought of anything else.

As he said, the goblin was waiting for her in her tent. Gritting her teeth, she took a quick inventory to make sure everything was where she left it in the sparsely furnished shelter, then lit the tiny lamp that hung from the tent pole.

The goblin stood huddled in his torn, filthy tunic. His dull red skin looked like blood in the lamplight. "Message," he mumbled. "Must take you to general."

"Thank you. If you will step outside, I will change my clothes. Then I will come with you."

The goblin was so unaccustomed to polite requests that he simply stared at her, his flat nose quivering.

"Go! Outside. Wait." Sara put it in as simple terms as she could. This time the goblin bobbed his head and scuttled out.

Sara quickly pulled off her own clothes, leaving them in a pile to wash, and put on the black clothes brought by the goblin. The uniform was designed to be worn under armor or alone, to be practical, durable, and generic. Stylish it was not. The black tunic had long sleeves and quilted padding across the chest and shoulders. Blue trim adorned the neckline and the sleeves. The pants laced at the legs and tied at the waist and were too baggy for Sara's taste. She hoped fervently she would not have to wear these too many days.

She shoved her feet into her rider's boots, strapped on her belt and its dagger, and went outside, where the goblin sat picking his nose.

When he saw her, he bounced to his flappy feet and bobbed his head again. "Nice clothes, Knight Warrior. Nice boots. Nice shirt. Look good! Nice-"

"All right!" Sara cut him off rather sharply. "Thank you. May we go?"

Nodding and mumbling to himself, he led Sara across the open field to the main gate of Neraka and into the streets of the inner city. If it were possible, the streets in the evening were even busier and more crowded than in the morning as the laborers and the soldiers finished their work for the day and came to spend their coins. Only the merchants closed their shops before sunset, leaving the streets to the patrons of the houses of pleasure and entertainment. Gangs of draconians roamed from street to street. Ogres jostled for room with mercenaries in the taverns, and goblins seemed to be everywhere.

The small goblin paid scant attention to the throngs. He took Sara through the Queen's Way to a section of Neraka built on the east side between the huge inner walls and the outer wall. Loosely named His High and Mighty's Grandiose Playground of Pleasures by the locals, the area was actually one of the nicer and cleaner sections of Neraka. There the buildings were larger and better constructed, and the streets were relatively quiet.

Most of the buildings had been built by the self-styled Lord Mayor of Neraka-His High and Mighty, a draconian of vile architectural taste-soon after the fall of the Temple of Darkness. The Solamnic overlords had removed the worst of the lord's attempts at "beautification" and had left the main buildings with plain facades, simple columns, and clean windows. Only the lord mayor's personal palace remained a garish eyesore of loud colors and inappropriate decoration.

The Knights of Takhisis under General Abrena had been granted the use of several of the buildings in the "playground." The general promptly moved into one of the larger homes, dubbed the Pink Palace. Her officers took over the municipal buildings for their headquarters, and her personal guards kept the area free of troublemakers. The most recent lord mayor complained a little, but he didn't have the power or the men-at-arms to remove them.

The goblin waved a clawed hand at one of the guards and passed through the gateway into the playground without stopping. He took Sara through the calm torchlit street directly to the general's house. Torches in sconces lit the plain face of the broad two-story building, one of the few built of stone, and the only one built of pink stone-one of the reasons for its name. Lights burned in every window, and guards paced by the wide front door.

Sara turned toward the entrance, but the goblin grabbed her pants leg and tugged her away. "No,no, Front door for guests. You go in back."

Sara protested. "You said I was to join General Abrena for dinner."

"Yes, yes. General need you." He pulled her around the back and took her in through the spacious kitchen.

Sara slowed to take an appreciative appraisal. The recruits and knights in Neraka may have had to fend for themselves, but General Abrena and her staff ate quite well. Drudges were turning a calf on a spit in a huge fireplace; several roasted pigs sat on platters, ready to be served. Cooks prepared bowls of steaming vegetables, and bakers pulled pans of newly baked bread out of the brick ovens.

Sara took a deep breath of the rich odors and felt her mouth begin to water. Her stomach rumbled in anticipation.

All at once the steward, a tall, wraith-thin man, rushed into the kitchen. He saw her and threw up his hands. "There you are! You're the last. Get inside now. And you, you sniveling little worm eater. What took you so long?"

The goblin immediately ducked his head and started whining, "I didn't do it. It was her fault. She started it."

Sara shook her head in disgust and walked away.

The steward hurried after her. "You will be serving the general tonight. It is a great honor, so you must know what to do."

"Slow down," Sara insisted. "What am I doing here? The goblin said I was to join the general for dinner."

The steward rolled his eyes. "That good-for-nothing sewer scum. Why does the general keep him around? General Abrena ordered you to serve as her squire tonight for a dinner she is having for some important officials."

Sara laughed. She should have known it would be something like this. Generals did not usually share meals with their common soldiery.

The steward glowered at her and hurried her through a covered walkway into the main body of the house and to a large hall that served as council room and occasional dining room.

On this night, a large black wood table had been set before a stone fireplace, where a comfortable fire cast a cheerful glow on the silver utensils and glass goblets. Fifteen chairs sat around the table, and at each chair but one stood a squire in black or a servant dressed in colorful robes. They waited silently unmoving and expressionless. Only one looked her way and winked.

Sara stifled the urge to giggle. It was Jacson, looking fit to burst in the stuffy atmosphere. She hurried to take her place behind the general's chair at the head of the table before she did something undignified.

The steward quickly explained to her about pouring the wine, keeping the finger towels available, and serving the food from the left and the drink from the right. He showed her where to find the salt cellars and the napkins. Sara, who knew all too well how to serve generals, merely nodded.

At that point, the doors of the hall opened and General Abrena and her guests arrived. Instantly a troupe of musicians began to play soft music from the gallery and the squires pulled out the chairs. Laughing and chatting among themselves, the general, her staff of officers, and six civilians found their seats and sat down.

Mirielle inclined her head in a brief greeting to Sara as she took her seat. The woman had left her armor behind and came dressed entirely in sleek black leather trimmed in gold and adorned with the black lily brooch. The results were ravishing and appeared to be having some effect on the lord mayor, who sat to her right. His eyes rarely left her, and his attention never wavered from her presence.

For the next few minutes, Sara was too busy pouring wine into the general's glass and serving the first course to pay attention to the other guests. But as the dinner progressed, she was able to take brief glances at the other occupants of the table. One surprised her. She thought only senior officers were present, but at the opposite end of the table sat the young officer who had commented on her age, Knight Officer Morham Targonne. Beside him was a heavily built, older version of himself dressed in rich robes and bedecked in jeweled rings and heavy chains. His father, Sara presumed. The elder Targonne was deep in discussion with another man in the desert robes of the Khur barbarians.

Two men sat across the table from them, and Sara guessed from the conversation that they were from Jelek, Neraka's nearest neighbor. Those two listened and watched their dinner companions and contributed little to the conversation.

Interspersed between the civilians sat Mirielle's staff officers, who did their best to make the affair pleasant and reassuring.

The one notable person missing from the table was the Lord Knight Cadrel. Sara knew by rights and by ranking, Cadrel should have been present. But whether he excused himself or Mirielle kept him away, the leprous knight was not there to spoil appetites.

The ensuing hours passed slowly for Sara. She grew hungrier by the minute, and the long night and busy day were taking their toll. She was so tired and hungry. She could hardly keep from swaying as she stood silently behind Mirielle's chair through the long and tedious dinner. Jacson caught her eye several times and grinned at her from behind his knight. The other squires and servants ignored her entirely.

At long last, the dessert was finished and the last dirty dishes were whisked away. More wine, a dark, rich red, was served. The guests leaned back in their chairs, warm and replete from the excellent meal. The conversation slowly moved to the subject of Neraka and the knighthood's place in the government.

Sara shook her woolly head and tried to pay attention. To give herself something to do, she fetched a tray of sweetmeats from the steward and set the bowls out on the table. An argument was going on between the lord mayor and the general, a disagreement that seemed to be an old one.

The lord mayor, a retired mercenary with his own ideas about Neraka, was saying, "We in the city appreciate the presence of the knights, of course, General. But you were only granted jurisdiction over the land around the city. We have been governing Neraka alone for years now. There is little that would interest you in the day-today tedium of running such a small city."

Mirielle leaned forward. Sara had the thought that if the woman really were a cat, her tail would be twitching by now. She looked ready to pounce.

"On the contrary, your lordship," the general said smoothly. "There is much here to interest us. The flourishing black market, the slave trade, the mercantile empire of the Targonne family." She nodded toward the elder Targonne. "The mere fact that our queen's temple lies within your boundaries is enough to draw our attention."

"But it is in ruins. Your slaves have done little more than empty out a few lower chambers and corridors. What good will it do you when your goddess is gone?"

Mirielle curled lips into a smile. "She has left us for now, but I think she will return, and when she does, I will be ready. Neraka is my first step." She pushed a bowl of sweetmeats toward the mayor without a pause in her speech. "With the city firmly in our grasp, we can rebuild the knighthood to its former glory. Once we are strong again, we will find a way to bring our queen back and spread her influence over the whole of Ansalon."

The mayor popped a few sweetmeats into his mouth and chewed them before answering, "You are highly ambitious, General Abrena, and I would be happy to assist you in any way I can. But the city of Neraka wishes to retain its autonomy. Perhaps we should put together a treaty to finalize the relationship between the Knights of Takhisis and the citizens of Neraka."

Mirielle lounged back in her chair, her arms draped over the armrests. She watched the mayor from under her long lashes and finally said, "I don't think that will be necessary."

Something in her tone set off a warning bell in Sara's mind. She snapped alert, the tray clutched in her hands, and following Mirielle's unblinking gaze, she turned her eyes to the burly lord mayor.

A shining sweat broke out on his forehead. His swarthy face abruptly paled to a sickly yellow. All at once he bellowed and lunged to his feet.

"What have you done, you witch!" he screamed. A violent paroxysm of pain bent him double. He groaned and fell to his knees by Mirielle's boots.

The other guests bolted to their feet. The squires and servants looked helplessly shocked. The two men from Jelek hastily put their sweetmeats back on the tray and pushed away from the table. The general's officers looked on with interest.

It was their knowing expressions that told Sara this had been planned. Disgust roiled in her stomach, and she moved around the chair to try to help the mayor. Mirielle watched impassively.

The man gasped for air. "Kill her!" he wheezed to his servant, and he collapsed to his side.

Before the general realized what he was doing, the mayor's servant slipped his hand into his sleeve and pulled out a slender throwing knife. As fast as an assassin, he hurled the knife at Mirielle's chest.

Sara witnessed his hand move from his sleeve, and she saw the flash of steel in the firelight. Without thinking of the consequences, she lunged forward and shoved the wooden tray in front of the general like a shield. The knife struck deep and quivered in the wood.

One of the lord knights moved in quickly behind the servant to prevent his escape, wrapped his hands around the man's head, and, giving a single jerk, broke his neck.

"Lord Knight Gamarin, I told you to search these people for weapons," Mirielle said irritably.

On the floor, the mayor's body jerked twice and shuddered to a deathly stillness.

The men from Jelek stared at the body, horrified, then one of them pointed a shaking finger at Sara. "You… you poisoned him!" he cried.

All eyes turned to Sara, standing beside the body, her eyes downcast. She turned the tray over in her hands and studied the knife stuck in the bottom.

"She did not kill him," Mirielle said, refilling her glass. "I did. That is the only treaty I will make with his sort. Remove the bodies," she snapped to her steward. To her officers, she said, "It is time. Follow your orders."

The knights saluted her and hurried out together, their squires trailing along in confusion. The remaining civilians shuffled nervously and waited for the general's next move. The room grew very still.

Mirielle enjoyed her moment. She sat back in her chair and sipped her wine while the remaining guests fidgeted and the servants scurried in to carry away both bodies.

"Aconite," Sara said into the silence.

The general started. "How do you know?"

Sara turned slowly on her toes and met Mirielle's speculative gaze. "I have studied herbs. Aconite is a deadly poison. It's also called wolfsbane. A tiny dose of its infusion will kill a large man in a matter of moments." She remembered the mayor's horrified face and the look of death in his eyes, and she shuddered. The Code of the dark knighthood condoned murder if the act was done to advance the Vision. But if Takhisis was gone and her Vision with her, whose vision was Mirielle trying to advance? "Why? Why did you kill him?" she wanted to know.

The two women faced each other as if there were no one else in the room. The men and the servants were forgotten; the table sat empty except for the wineglasses and the trays of sweetmeats.

"I had no more use for him," Mirielle replied. "He was an obstruction that needed to be removed, and I chose the quickest, easiest method. Now that he is gone, nothing else stands in my way for a swift takeover of the Nerakan government. By morning, the city will be ours, and our troops will bring the populace to heel. It should have been ours in the first place. It was stupid of the council to just grant us the lands around Neraka."

She reached over and pulled the tray out of Sara's hands. "Thank you for this," she said, holding up the tray so the knife stood upright. "Your reflexes are still quite good." She smiled at Sara. This time the good humor spread across her face and lit her eyes with a genuine delight that made her look younger and as impish as a child.

"If you're quite finished with us, may we go?" the elder Targonne interjected.

The general tossed the tray to the table and rose to her feet. "Of course. How inconsiderate of me. Gentlemen, I bid you good night. Please remember our earlier conversations. The Knights of Takhisis are here to stay, and we seek to increase our advantage in every way possible. If there is something we can do for each other's benefit, do not hesitate to call on me."

Targonne bowed slightly and, gesturing to his son, he said, "Morham will bring the supply contracts to you in the morning. I think you will find them very advantageous."

The Jelek men bowed, too, and left wordlessly on the heels of the merchant lord. The Khur barbarian hid a smile behind his dark beard. He left a small bag of coins on the table and walked out, his silent bodyguard behind him.

Mirielle picked up the coin bag. Juggling it in her hand, she picked up the bowl of poisoned sweetmeats and tossed it into the fire. "By leaving this bag, the Klurs have agreed to bargain for wool and meat," she said, pleased with the success of her night. "All this with only one small bowl of candies."

Sara watched the firelight dance on Mirielle's sculpted features. And she wondered, for what would be the first of many times, what would have happened if she had not stopped that knife.