The Memory of Darkness (on hold until October)

32 - The Deterrent

Gretchen sat pushing the remains of her lunch around the plate with her knife. "I'm sorry to keep talking about it, but... I still can't believe it. I could get a place at University based on this. Admittedly, I have to pretend to be a man, which would be annoying."

Coren chuckled. "I'd wager you wouldn't be the first."

"Far from it," agreed Dominic. "I once knew a scholar who-." He fell silent as the landlady approached their table.

"This has just been delivered for you," she announced, thrusting an envelope at him.

Dominic thanked her, waiting for her to depart before investigating the contents. As he read, his face became grave. "I have a bad feeling about this," he said, handing the letter to Coren.

"What is it?" asked Gretchen.

"It's from the Count," said Coren. "Letting us know that a battalion of troops have just arrived at Isterbeck. Five hundred men and two siege engines."

"What difference will that make?" queried the girl.

The Priest ran his fingers through his iron-grey hair. "None, but Lorcan may be annoyed by their presence. If he decides he wants them gone, it won't be a case of him asking them politely."

Coren stood up. "I have to go back there. Now."

"Why?" asked Dominic. "Stay here, at least it's safe."

"They need to be warned," said Coren. "They don't know what they're up against."

Dominic shook his head. "I wasn't joking when I said I had a bad feeling about this, please stay away from that place."

"I don't intend to be there long," Coren assured him. "Try not to worry." He ran up to his room, changing into his Telvarel Guard uniform, knowing that it would give him some sense of authority with whoever was in charge of the troops.

When he left his room, Gretchen was waiting for him, with a small, sturdy looking metal flask with a wired lid. "It's Dreadfyre," she explained. "A one in ten dilution, so not as potent or unstable as the batch we used yesterday, but still nasty stuff. Try not to spill it on yourself. Sil Vaddrin's corpses aren't too fond of fire, from what I can gather."

"I'm not expecting to run into any corpses," said Coren.

"Nobody ever is," said Gretchen, sagely. "You should be prepared for all eventualities."

Coren thanked her, appreciating her thoughtfulness. A sense of unease grew inside him as he rode away from the tavern, the only relief coming from the fact that none of the others had insisted on joining him.

A camp had already been set up at the bottom of the hill by the time he reached Isterbeck, and a trebuchet was already being unpacked. He was stopped at the edge of the camp by two soldiers, whose manners showed a marked improvement when they noticed his uniform.

"Good day to you, Sir," said one. "May I ask your business here?"

"Good day," replied Coren, although it seemed far from good. "Who is in command here?"

"Lord Hallan," said the soldier.

This cheered Coren a little. He knew Hallan, so at least no time would be wasted on introductions and establishing credentials. "I need to speak with him."

The mood in the camp was low as he was shown to the commander's tent. A few cooking fires had been set up, and the men huddled around them seemed wary, nervous even. The ominous atmosphere of this place was not just in his imagination.