The Silent Enemy (16 page)

Feeling much better, the Black Dragon finally continued his story. “Lord Eduarco had a Gunderman bodyguard,” he said between bites. “A man named Wulfrim . . .”

“I’ve heard the name before, but for more than one person. ’Tis a fairly common name, I am sorry to say.”

Nermesa described Wulfrim as carefully as he could. Konstantin nodded after each detail to indicate that he would recall it.

“That’s him as best as I can do,” Bolontes’ son finally said.

“I will jot down all of that and pass it on to the men and the town leaders. Is there more?”

“A little.” Nermesa mentioned the sudden coming of the Poitainian knights to the estate, an act of Mitra that had saved him from kidnapping or worse. “In the chaos, Lord Eduarco’s jealousy overtook him, and he was slain by the bird. When Lady Jenoa returned, she decided it was safer to have me devoured, but I started a fire and the raptor tore loose. In its panic, it accidentally knocked her out of the tower window. I leapt atop it as it slipped through—”

“Fearing, no doubt, more for the Poitainians it might come across than your own hide.” The crimson-tressed Aquilonian grinned. “Do not look so surprised!
That
is just the Nermesa Klandes that I know! Of course, you managed to slay the bird in flight, then, by the will of Mitra, survived the fall! Am I right?”

Nermesa looked chagrined. “Listening to you, I fear to answer yes.”

“Fear not! I’ve regaled the men and the locals with tales of your exploits since I was posted here! Damn it, Nermesa! You will someday be a legend as great as Sir Prospero or General Pallantides! Already, they call you ‘Sword of the Lion’ in honor of your service to King Conan!”

Bolontes’ son had not been aware of that. He quickly shook his head. “No one should say such things. I merely do what I must.”

“And you do it so well.” Konstantin shook his head. “I was out there among the Picts that day when the witch would have had our heads for their poles, Nermesa. I know what you have done. What few men could have done.”

“We were talking about the plot against the king and the kidnapping of Sir Prospero,” Nermesa pointedly observed. “I believe that Prospero is still alive but a captive somewhere here in Gunderland. I also believe that Wulfrim must be in the vicinity.”

“You finish your meal while I go spread the word. I’ll return shortly.”

Nermesa devoured most of what the aide had brought, it being the first true meal he had eaten since the ill-digested one at Lord Eduarco’s estate. By the time he was finally finished, Konstantin returned.

“The men are informed, Nermesa. Those going out on patrol and sentry duty in Heinard will keep watch. If he shows his face, he’ll be noticed.”

“Good.” The Black Dragon considered. “What about the Gundermen? Would they help catch one of their own?”

“They are citizens of the realm just as you and I! It’s still early enough. We shall go speak with Dario, the headman, when you feel ready.”

Konstantin did not say it outright, but he offered Nermesa the chance to clean himself up. Nermesa thought about it, then thought about what might happen if Wulfrim did slip away and Prospero was lost. “We can go now.”

To his credit, the other knight did not argue. “As you wish. Dario’s likely to take you for a Cimmerian with that look, so let me lead the way.”

“How long will it take us to reach the castle?”

“The castle? We’re not going to the castle. Dario can be found near the town square. The castle is commanded by his brother, Arumus, in defense of Gunderland from the north.”

Brow arching, Nermesa asked, “From Cimmeria?”

“Gunderland is not all that vast a region. And the people have not forgotten their loss at Venarium even to this day. Tarantia is aware of it. It’s a long-standing tradition going back from monarch to monarch. Aquilonia for the most part leaves Gunderland to its own defense when it comes to the north lands, which Gunderland prefers. We and the other outposts are more of a token force showing that we will back up the locals in return for all they contribute to the kingdom’s armies as a whole. It’s worked very well for generations.”

Bolontes’ son nodded. He saw no further reason to pursue the subject. As Konstantin pointed out, Gunderland had always been one of the most secure areas of Aquilonia.

Konstantin secured them two horses, giving Nermesa a fresh mount. The pair rode into Heinard, ending up at a particularly sturdy-looking longhouse that cut across half the square. Unlike most, it was made completely from stone and was guarded by four erstwhile figures.

At sight of Konstantin, one of the Gundermen knocked on the door. He was admitted, the door closing quickly behind him. Nermesa glanced at Konstantin, who indicated that the two of them should dismount.

By the time they had, the guard had stepped out again, followed closely by a graying Gunderman who, despite his older age, looked capable of outwrestling either of the two Aquilonians. The newcomer wore a short beard and, at first glance, Nermesa took him for a relative of Wulfrim. A second look reminded the Black Dragon of Morannus. Of course, to Nermesa as well as many other Aquilonians, Gundermen
did
have a tendency to look much alike.

“Commander Konstantin,” rumbled the figure. “I recall no meeting arranged between us.”

“None was, Dario,” returned Nermesa’s companion. “I apologize for the intrusion, but a matter has come up that we must speak about immediately. It should not take much time.”

“For Aquilonia, I will make whatever time necessary. Please, inside.”

Without ceremony, they entered. The longhouse served not only as the location from which Dario governed Heinard, but was his family’s residence as well. The trio entered a common room in which a stone fireplace took precedence. It covered half the back wall and above it had been set the stuffed heads of two snarling black bears. Skins perhaps belonging to those same animals covered the wooden walls on each side of the massive fireplace.

A long, rectangular table made of cedar filled the center, benches of an equal length flanking it. There were several marks in the well-worn table that to Nermesa looked as if they had been gouged by knives or axes.

“Will you sit?” offered the headman.

“We will stand,” replied Konstantin respectfully. “And, as I indicated, we will take as little time as possible.” The garrison commander indicated his companion. “Dario, I am pleased to introduce Baron Nermesa Klandes, a Black Dragon in service to King Conan.”

“A Black Dragon?” Dario’s heavy brow wrinkled. “I know that name, too.” He glanced at Konstantin. “The one who sent the Picts fleeing? The
Sword of the Lion
himself?”

“That is he, yes.”

The headman bowed. “Heinard is honored by the presence of such a champion. I am personally honored to have you in my home. You will at least accept something to drink?”

“Some of your local ale, perhaps,” suggested the red-haired knight. To Nermesa, he commented, “Also well above that burning oil that passes for drink in the Westermarck.”

Dario called out, and a young woman who might have been his daughter came to him. “Ale for myself and my friends, Melia.”

As Melia departed, Konstantin said, “This is a matter of great import, Dario.”

“And so shall be kept to myself and those few who need to know. What is it?”

“We seek one of your countrymen, a Wulfrim.”

“I know a few Wulfrims,” rumbled the headman. “What does this one look like?”

Konstantin looked to the other Aquilonian. “Nermesa can describe him best.”

Nermesa gave Dario every detail he had passed on to Konstantin. The headman listened earnestly, making his guest stop only when Melia brought the ale. When she had departed once more, he urged Nermesa on.

When the knight finally finished, Dario took a great swallow of his ale. “A fair recollection, if accurate. Heinard is not so large a place that an outsider, even one of our own, would not be noticed by someone. If this Wulfrim is here, he will be found.”

“It must be quickly,” urged Nermesa. After a glance at Konstantin for assurance, he added, “The life of the king might be at stake and surely that of a noble warrior of the realm, Sir Prospero of Poitain.”

“Is that
so
?” Dario downed the rest of his ale in one energetic gulp that left both Aquilonians staring. “Then I’ll be sending word out as soon as you two have left.”

“Does that include your brother, in the castle?” asked Nermesa.

“Arumus? Surely, although I can’t fathom why this Wulfrim would even head up there. Nothing beyond the castle but foul Cimmeria and no Gunderman, no matter how treacherous, would make his way there.”

Setting down his mug, Konstantin stood, and said, “In the name of Aquilonia, I thank you for your cooperation, Dario.”

The headman grunted. Both he and Nermesa also rose. The two knights shook hands with Dario, who then led them out. A guard handed over the reins of Nermesa’s horse. As Nermesa mounted, he noticed another knight riding toward them at a brisk pace. He alerted Konstantin to the other’s presence.

“Broderik, third-in-command,” murmured Nermesa’s comrade. He frowned. “And not with good news, from his expression. Come. I want to hear this away from Dario and the others.”

They swiftly bid the headman farewell. Dario clearly also noted Broderik’s arrival but respected Konstantin’s choice.

As the third Aquilonian neared them, Konstantin signaled for him to remain silent. Broderik’s jaw clenched tight, his news clearly something he greatly desired to blurt out. Fortunately, his training held.

Konstantin waited until they were nearly within the shadow of the fort before finally pulling over to the side of the path. He peered back toward the town as if to make certain that no one watched them. Nermesa knew that Dario would have his own ears near the fort and might eventually discover what the news concerned, but Konstantin had acted as his position demanded.

“Low and calm, Broderik. Whatever it is you need to tell me, keep it low and calm. You are a knight of Aquilonia, after all.”

Broderik, a young, beak-nosed noble, swallowed before nodding. “Aye, commander. It’s just—” He swallowed again. “The news came by messenger just after you departed.”

Nermesa noticed that Konstantin’s subordinate shook slightly, and his own fears rose. “The king! Is the king all right?”

“Aye, my lord! For now he is, but that could change once they are out on the field—”

“Out on the field?” blurted Konstantin. He and Nermesa glanced in shock at one another. “What do you mean?”

The younger knight swallowed again. “My lords . . . Aquilonia and Nemedia are again at
war
!”

10

THE DECLARATION SENT Nermesa’s mind spinning. He recalled again Wulfrim’s mention of Nemedia and its part in the mysterious plot. If King Tarascus dared believe that he could risk a new invasion of Aquilonia despite the precariousness of his own political position, then what did that say about the progress made by those traitors who sought to overthrow King Conan? Had they already managed to torture the information they needed from Sir Prospero? If so, that would mean that the Poitainian was now very likely dead and Nermesa’s quest was an abysmal failure.

“Impossible!” Konstantin said, not for the first time. “Such a thing is unlikely! For Nemedia to war upon Aquilonia is madness!”

“Madness, perhaps, but not unlikely,” Nermesa interjected. “Konstantin, we must find Wulfrim. He can clear much up.”

“If he is even in this region.”

The Black Dragon nodded ruefully. “Yet I feel he must be near, even if not exactly in Heinard.” Nermesa rubbed his chin. “I need some men to ride out with me to the north, near the border even. He may be hiding out there. It looks to be the most likely area.”

“I would agree, Nermesa, but
you
are going nowhere this day. Look at you, man! You need rest at the very least!”

“I can’t—”

The fort commander would brook no argument. “Broderik here will see to it that you are provided with what you need, especially a bed. If you worry about this Wulfrim, fear not.
I
will take a patrol and ride out as you planned. I have some good notions as to where such a man might hide. Have faith that I will search as thoroughly as you . . .”

As he did have that faith, Nermesa could not honestly protest. In truth, he already felt weariness sapping away the strength his meal had restored to him. The knight was also aware that if he took the time to rest this once, he would be able to go on for some time again without pause.

“Very well.”

Konstantin nodded. “Then let us ride into the fort. You’ve some recuperating to do and I—I have a hunt to plan . . .”

 
CLEANING HIMSELF UP—which included a long-overdue shave—did much to refresh Nermesa, but he did not follow through with the temptation to ride out and join Konstantin’s patrol. Not only did he not know which direction his friend had taken the soldiers, but Nermesa was very aware that his energetic mood was only temporary.

Indeed, he had barely lain down on the cot provided to him by Broderik before sleep overtook him. Nermesa shared Konstantin’s quarters and so knew that if the red-haired knight returned while he slumbered, he would quickly hear the results of the hunt. The Black Dragon hoped for the best, but, aware of his own lack of success in pursuing the Gunderman, did not expect it.

It was not, however, Konstantin who disturbed him. That fate fell to Broderik, who knocked tentatively on the door until Nermesa finally woke up and answered.

“Forgive me, my lord,” the other knight murmured. “but there is a—a woman—who seeks to speak to you and you alone.”

“Me?”

“Yes, sir. She will not enter the fort, though.”

Curiosity and suspicion vied for dominance. Nermesa grabbed his garments. “Give me a hand. Quickly.”