The Memory of Darkness (on hold until October)

33 - For Old Times' Sake

Lorcan lay, half asleep, his mind going over the previous day's events. He was confident that he had made his point; that they would think twice before sending more troops. He wondered what they had even hoped to achieve. No amount of siege engines would have broken through the barrier, it didn't work like that.

Either way, it was done. The men had scattered and half of the camp had caught alight. Giving an obscene gesture to the man in the expensive looking uniform had been childish, admittedly, but something about him had troubled Lorcan immensely. Not that he mattered, nobody outside mattered.

He yawned, wondering if sleep would claim him again, not caring if it was the middle of the day. A thought struck him, jolting him from his drowsy state.

That was the mercenary.

He was certain of it. That man had been with the scholar from Alsenberg, supposedly a hired guard, though he'd been wearing civilian clothes that day. The uniform yesterday had been one of the elite military units, but he wasn't certain which one. It was doubtful that an old University man would be able to hire a soldier like that to keep troublemakers away.

This didn't add up at all. Had Dominic lied to him, or had the other men lied to Dominic? There had been something about the old man that had seemed familiar. This all made him rather uneasy. It was most likely nothing to worry about, but still warranted further investigation.

He quickly climbed out of the bed, taking care not to wake Arianna, and pulled on his clothes. He didn't want to attract the attention of any Mages who may be around, so added a silver ring, designed to mask his signal entirely.

It was market day in Estenfold, and the traders were beginning to pack away their stalls as the sun dipped low in the sky. Nobody paid him much attention as he scoured the streets and inns, wondering if he was searching for the proverbial needle in a haystack.

His luck changed for the better when he saw an old man in grey robes, leaning on a crutch as he climbed the few steps up to the Rising Sun inn. "Greetings brother," he whispered under his breath. If this was where Dominic was staying, perhaps the other men would be there too. It was worth a try, at least.

Like the street outside, the tavern was busy, but he managed to find a seat in a suitably dark alcove. There was no sign of his brother in the great room, implying that he was a guest there, and had gone to his room. He ordered a drink, and waited until his patience began to run low.

The conversations around him seemed to be dominated by talk of soldiers reaching the town, telling stories of the rampaging dead. People seemed unsure of how much credit to give these stories, and he fought the urge to announce that it was all true.

Just as he began to think that perhaps this wasn't the best use of his time, Dominic entered the room, accompanied by the scholar. Lorcan sat back in his chair, plunging himself into shadow, as the two men sat at a nearby table, both oblivious to his presence.

"It's delayed shock," said the scholar. "Things like that aren't supposed to happen. It's hard to comprehend until you see it up close."

"I know," said Dominic. "I've seen it close. It's bad enough when they're stood still, never mind hacking people to bits."

"It's a nasty bruise on his ankle," said the scholar. "Those things have some grip. He'll feel better soon enough, the sleeping draught will help."

Lorcan couldn't help but smile. Has your young friend had a bit of a fright?

The two men ordered drinks and sat in silence for a while. Lorcan struggled to take a proper look at the scholar without making himself obvious. There is something. Why can't I put my finger on it?