Usurient smiled, accepting the purse back. “Why don’t we do this? You take care of your drasks and then come to the Broken Soldier for a drink. We’ll celebrate your victory. I will make my offer; you will listen and decide its merit.” He shrugged. “However it goes is how it goes.”
Mallich spit. “Waste of my time. Besides, I’m tired and I don’t need a drink. You’d best be on your way, Dallen.”
The Commander of the Red Slash shrugged. “Have it your way.” He turned to go, and then stopped. “By the way. Did I mention that my offer concerns Arcannen?” He waited a beat. “So if you know of somebody who might be his equal, perhaps you could send word to me?”
Mallich did not stop what he was doing. He did nothing to indicate he had heard anything the other had said. But Usurient knew he had heard every word. He smiled. “I’ll be at the tavern, if you change your mind about that drink.”
Then he turned away once more, and this time he kept going.
He never once worried that Mallich wouldn’t follow him to the tavern. Any mention of Arcannen would be enough to draw Mallich’s attention. Any suggestion that there was an opportunity to track down his most hated enemy would win his active support.
Because Mallich did indeed hate the sorcerer worse than anyone.
And for a very good reason.
Five years earlier, Arcannen had murdered a minister of the Federation’s Coalition Council in the guise of a member of the Fourth Druid Order. It had taken the personal intervention of the Prime Minister and an agreement with the Ard Rhys of the Druid Order to unmask the deception, but it had been discovered and Arcannen had been forced to flee his home in Wayford, leaving everything behind. For a time, he had disappeared completely. Both the Druids and the Federation had searched for him, but rumors of sightings and efforts to bait him into showing himself had yielded nothing. After nearly a year of searching, any active hunt had been abandoned.
Then, shortly afterward, a report surfaced that the sorcerer was living in a small village south and east of Wayford called Dorrat. A member of the Federation army, while visiting his wife’s family, had seen the sorcerer engaged in a discussion with the village blacksmith. Aware of the stalled hunt for Arcannen, he had reported his discovery immediately upon his return to his company in Sterne, and word had eventually filtered back to Arishaig and the senior commander of the Federation army.
The commander, in turn, had given the job of following up this latest rumor–one that he believed worth examining more closely–to Usurient and the Red Slash. Find out the truth of things and report back.
But Usurient–choosing to reinterpret his orders–decided that men other than regular soldiers should handle the matter. He called in Mallich at once, told him of the assignment, and asked if he would undertake it. If the sorcerer was found, he was to be killed at once. No consideration was to be given to any other course of action. Arcannen was extremely dangerous; killing him swiftly and without hesitation was the proper resolution to the task. Mallich could accomplish this any way he chose; he could take with him any others he felt would aid him. He could use whatever methods he felt necessary. Whatever the nature of any damage or condemnation that resulted, Usurient would make certain there were no repercussions.
Because of the sorcerer’s reputation and the challenge offered in hunting him down, Mallich accepted the assignment. He did not do so without a full awareness of the danger he would face, but his confidence in his own considerable skills and experience persuaded him that he was more than equal to the task.
For support, he took with him two of his juken trackers, a drask to protect them, and a handful of the men who had assisted on hunts like this in the past–all of them familiar with what was required and willing to do whatever was demanded of them to achieve the result Usurient desired.
He also took with him his only son, a sharp–eyed, hulking boy of twenty years named Mauerlin.
Taking the boy was a bad idea, Usurient believed, because while fully grown and otherwise entirely capable, Mauerlin lacked experience. But he said nothing to Mallich because it wasn’t his place to do so. As one of many, perhaps the boy would be in no special danger. Surely the father would recognize the need to keep a close eye on his son.
But he misjudged Mallich’s determination to give his son an opportunity to prove himself. Arriving at the village of Dorrat, the company split in two. Mallich took command of the first unit and gave the second over to his son. Each of them would take one of the jukens, and Mauerlin would be given the drask, as well. Their quarry’s scent was provided through a piece of clothing retrieved from among the clothes Arcannen had abandoned in Wayford when he had fled the city. A quick sniff was provided to the animals, and the two expeditions were off.
They approached their search methodically, coming toward each other from opposite ends of the village. They held off until after nightfall, biding their time until they knew most of the villagers would be in bed. They searched quietly and efficiently, allowing the jukens to set the pace. Mallich had already determined, through a surreptitious investigation by one of his most trusted scouts, that Arcannen was still in the village. It was troubling to him that no one seemed to know exactly where the sorcerer kept his quarters, but overall that seemed an inconsequential obstacle.
In fact, it was their undoing.
However he managed it–whether through some mistake by Mallich or some warning system he had set in place previously–Arcannen quickly discovered he was being hunted. Rather than waiting around to be found, he went down into the streets and began to track the hunters coming at him from the north.
Mauerlin’s unit.
What happened afterward was never entirely clear to anyone, in part because there was no one left to describe it. Arcannen took out the drask and jukens first, and when the hunters were left blind and in disarray, he took them out as well. One by one, he picked them off until all lay dead save their leader.
Then he set out to make an example of Mallich’s son before fleeing into the night and disappearing once more.
When the father found his son, Mauerlin was hanging inside the blacksmith’s by his arms. A weight was tied to his legs, which in turn were connected by a length of rope that was fastened about the boy’s neck in a noose. So long as Mauerlin kept his legs raised, he was safe. But when he tired and the weight pulled his legs down, the noose about his neck tightened.
Usurient, who had seen men die in every way conceivable, knew what that must have been like for the boy as he fought to keep from strangling and for the father when he found him afterward.
They had never talked about it, Mallich and he. But Usurient, who knew men and understood their passions, never doubted what the boy’s death had done to the father or how badly the father hungered for retribution. He might act as if the matter were over and done with and he had gotten past it. He might pretend that he didn’t spend every waking hour waiting for a chance to do to the sorcerer what he had done to Mauerlin. But Usurient knew better.
You never got over the death of a child and the guilt that somehow attached to it.
It was not more than thirty minutes after he arrived when the tavern door swung open and Mallich appeared. Usurient had chosen a table near the back of the room that allowed him a clear view of those who entered but forced the latter to search a bit in order to find him. Mallich was quick, however, finding him almost at once and moving over to the table to sit.
Usurient signaled for a tankard and leaned back again in his chair. “I can order you something to eat, if you wish.”
Mallich glowered. “You can stop being clever. If I weren’t persuaded to listen to your offer, I wouldn’t be here. So let’s get on with it. Say what you have to say.”