The Book of Deacon by Joseph R. Lallo
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General Trigorah paced across a courtyard. There were soldiers here, standing at attention, but they were Demont's men, not her own. Cold eyes stared at her through slits in face-concealing helmets. She long ago had come to the conclusion that these men obeyed her not because they respected her or because of any chain of command, but because Demont had instructed them to do so. The fact made her uneasy in their presence.
The doors of the low, stone building before her creaked open. A pair of individuals stepped out. The first was Arden. There was a dash of confusion and impatience mixed with his usual expression of mindless cruelty. Beside him was a young woman, one who Trigorah was unfamiliar with, clutching the halberd. She nodded at the general as she dropped a bag into Arden's hand with the telltale jingle of coins.
"Excellent work as always, my good sir. I do so enjoy our associations. Keep your schedule open. I expect we shall need your services again quite soon," the woman remarked.
"What're you lookin at, elf?" Arden barked at Trigorah as he passed.
"You are wanted inside," the young woman remarked to the general, ignoring the outburst.
General Teloran shrugged off Arden's glare and stepped inside, beginning her long trek downward. This was one of the various "deep forts" that the other generals were so fond of. All but the topmost level was below ground. Staircases were placed at alternating ends of each level, making the journey downward and upward a long and time-consuming endeavor by design. Wall after wall of cells passed by her as she descended deeper. Finally, she came to the final door and opened it.
Inside, she found a tall, pale woman dressed in a black cloak embroidered with sigils of unquestionably mystic origin. In her hand was a silver rod, embossed in a manner similar to the cloak and topped with an expertly-cut gem. At the sight of her visitor, the woman's face lit up with an almost manic look of excitement.
"General Trigorah, so good of you to come quickly," the woman said.
"I try to be prompt, General Teht," Trigorah replied.
Teht was unique among the other generals in that Trigorah did not dread dealing with her. This was partially due to the fact that General Teht, despite having been a general at the time Trigorah was promoted, was not granted the same royal privilege that the other generals enjoyed. As a result, Teht was Trigorah's one fellow general that could not give her orders. Another reason was that she was, in many ways, Trigorah's mystic counterpart, sent to the far corners of the kingdom on tasks not unlike her own.
"Well, on this occasion I am most appreciative, as I've something quite exciting that I need to be off to. After all of these blasted trips south, I've finally been given something important to do," Teht declared enthusiastically.
"South? You've been south? How far?" Trigorah asked.
"Far enough. It seems as though that is the only place they send me. And always for the same reasons. Training. Give these spells to the casters on the front lines. Go have a word with that necromancer we've got down there . . ." Teht wearily complained.
"So they have been sending wizards to the front lines. I've been telling Bagu that a few well-placed magic-users could make an enormous difference," Trigorah said. "How have they been fairing?"
"Adequately. Status quo. Regardless, they've got me on a new project now. I'll be helping Demont and Epidime with something. Something major . . ." the general rambled.
This was almost certainly why Teht was not given the same level of seniority as the other generals. She had a habit of speaking vaguely about things that were clearly intended to be high-level secrets. It showed a staggering lack of military discipline that often made Trigorah wonder how she could have ascended to such a position.
"So I shall be spending my time in that mountain fort Demont keeps. You know the one. I shall have my own underlings. This is what I have been waiting for!" Teht continued.
"I am pleased to hear it. When you were at the front line, did--" Trigorah pressed, eager for fresh news.
"Never mind that. I've got your new orders here. I'd say they'll be keeping you busy. Epidime will be loaning this fort to you so that you can carry them out. I believe you'll be getting a few of the wagons and your pick of the latest set of draftees to patch up the holes in your Elites," she interjected. She handed Trigorah a thick bundle of pages.
"Elites are drawn from veterans, not--" Trigorah began.
"Yes, yes. Whatever the source, you have your pick. I'm off," she said, raising her staff.
Before Trigorah could object, Teht spoke a sequence of arcane words. Recognizing them, General Teloran hurried through the door and closed it. A moment later there was a thunderous clap. When the door was opened again, Teht was gone and the sparse furniture of the room had been hurled to the corners.
Trigorah had witnessed the spell only once, and fortunately from a safe distance. She could not be certain what it was that she had seen that day, but two things were certain. The spell allowed its caster to travel great distances quickly, and it left the departure point in a terrible state. She'd since made it a point to retreat at the sound of those words. It was a technique that Bagu and the others tended to use only under great duress, but Teht used it at every opportunity.
Such impulsiveness was a sure way to an early grave.
Trigorah righted a chair and the table and set her orders out. They were familiar, and rightly so. She had written them. It was the list of citizens likely to have had an opportunity to make contact with the sword. The only additional information came in a single page added to the end of the report. Just a few simple words:
In addition to current tasks, revise list and detain all identified individuals for questioning, release pending the acquisition of the sword.
"All identified individuals." There were dozens, perhaps hundreds, and since she'd delivered the report, the Undermine had become involved. She scanned the pages again. Shopkeepers. Patrons of taverns and inns. Most of those she'd found were bystanders. Not that it mattered. She stowed the instructions with trembling hands. Orders were orders . . .