Nights of Villjamur - Mark Charan Newton [49]
“Listening in?”
“Listening in.” Urtica reached under his cloak, produced the arrow. “I urgently need to know where this came from.”
Fentuk took it, examined it closely. “Hard to tell in this light.” He rolled it between his fingers, lifted it this way and that. “Well, it ain’t Jamur,” he continued. “Not from any of the islands to the west or south. My guess would be Varltung, but I can’t be certain. Made very poorly, you see. Could also be Maour, Dockull or even Hulrr.” The man pursed his lips thinly. “Why? Where d’you get it?”
Urtica clicked his tongue against his teeth. “It was found in the corpse of a Night Guard soldier. The commander suspects it was a Varltung ambush. I was hoping to get your confirmation, to support the case for a campaign against that nation, before the Freeze sets in.”
“Oh, well, I … I couldn’t say for sure it’s from Varltung, no.”
“Are you certain you can’t be sure? We need to strike back against the Varltungs before it’s too late.” The chancellor waved his hands in the air to stress the point.
“No,” Fentuk said. “I really can’t be sure, not if it could mean war. Not on my word. Is this all the evidence you have?”
“We’ve more,” Urtica said. A lie, of course, and he didn’t think twice about saying it.
“I can’t help you in this case, chancellor. I’m sorry.” He handed the arrow back to Urtica, who concealed it beneath his cloak again.
“Was that everything?” Fentuk said, running his hand through his hair. “I have to be getting back now.”
“No, there was something else—something much more important.” Urtica looked around the parapet. He stepped in closer to Fentuk. “I must whisper this.
“I can offer you a substantial sum of money to make sure that you never have to step foot in that rancid armory again—we’re talking safe accounts and country estates. All you have to do is confirm for me that this arrow came from a Varltung bow, and back me up officially if I wanted to initiate an order of war. You could do that for me, couldn’t you, Fentuk?”
The chief of defense was solemn as he clasped the parapet. “I … I really don’t know.”
Urtica placed an arm around him. “I wouldn’t like to say what might happen otherwise. I mean, there are some prominent promilitary Council members with significant investments in armory and ores—and in times of war their incomes and influence are known to rise hugely. Should they be denied this opportunity—and your name will be thrown about the Atrium—well, I have heard tell of punishment beatings for this sort of thing in the past. Such stories …” He shook his head and sighed for effect.
A moment later, as if ordered, a banshee began keening in the distance, somewhere possibly Caveside. As time passed, Fentuk was visibly shaken by this potential premonition. “How much money are we talking about exactly?” he muttered eventually.
Urtica smiled. “That’s the spirit, Fentuk. You won’t regret this. You should maybe join me for drinks sometime, socially.”
Brynd had ordered his men to set up camp for the night on the edge of a copse of trees seven hours’ ride further on from the hamlet of Goúle, and just past the Bria Haugr, a conical hill that was reputed to be an ancient Azimuth burial mound. The surrounding fagus would provide them with some concealment.
They were now halfway to the military port of Gish. Brynd didn’t want to travel via E’toawor, a significant port town and favored entry point to Jokull. He couldn’t afford to go further north either, to the towns of Vilhokteu and, on the estuary of the River Hok, Vilhokr. He certainly did not need the eyes of common tradesmen, dockers, and farm laborers to be the first of her subjects to set eyes upon the new Empress.
As the sun set Brynd and Sen sparred with sabers a little to fend off the boredom. But as the sky became a bold shade of purple, it was clear that Sen was getting the better of him. The others, including the garuda, sat around the fire, backs against the wheels of the carriage, watching.
“He’ll have you, Brynd,” Apium said. “I can see your defenses