11 - Contact

  The city of Bastion’s Reach sounded like the roaring of the tide - with bluster that did not belong to them. The war, having come to a standstill the last three months, was beginning to seem a distant thing, and so the people began to wake. Even so, Wallace hadn’t expected to get into the city so easily. He’d expected some haggling over his stolen documents. Some arguments, even. But no. He’d slipped in without trouble thanks to a young, hapless, dimwitted Adernian soldier who was far too overwhelmed with proper protocol to actually perform it.

  He tightened his grip on his cloak and counted his memorized steps. This place already felt like a warren of random twists and turns. The press of bodies made every step suffocating. Like little groundhogs poking their heads out of the earth after a long winter, they scurried about the place. Their voices rose, towering above the walls that were supposed to keep them safe. Children ran with full abandon, unsupervised chaos. Others loafed about. Those in uniform traipsed down the walkways with little care, laughing on their way to some tavern to get drunk no doubt.

  It irked him.

  How could these people feel so comfortable here? How could they not remember there were lions at the door? And how did such a complacent people earn themselves a respite? Savidor should have already been here by now. Instead, thanks to a certain bastard knight order, they were stuck in a ceasefire that should never have been necessary.

  King Roderic’s letters had arrived every week since the signing of that blasted thing, adorned with the golden lion of Savidor. Wallace still remembered his latest.

  Why is there no movement? It has been three months since you signed that shame of a negotiation. You have given nothing, and my patience wears thin. If no results are forthcoming, I must find other avenues of getting what is needed.

  Your mother came to the castle today. Your father’s health continues to decline. I would hate for anything to happen to his heir, to leave the seat of the House of Jorgund empty.

  Eliminate the problem or I will eliminate mine.

  ~His Majesty, King Roderic of the Savidorian Throne

  Wallace’s father had been in decline for years, as had his faculties. The threat of his demise did not bother him. The opinion of most of the family was that the seat should have been relinquished to a successor many years ago.

  But his inheritance…

  That Wallace wasn’t willing to let go.

  So, here he was. In the one place he never thought he’d be, among people who should have been under their thumb by now, avoiding the touch of children’s dirty hands, protecting his future. He wasn’t used to this kind of espionage. He preferred being behind the screen, pulling the strings. But one must what one needs.

  Even with the explicit directions he had been given, Wallace had a difficult time finding the market. In the end, he had to rely on the scent of food and the loud racket of hawkers selling their wares. He wandered through the stalls. Cheap. Messy. And the food smelled far too under-seasoned. He still bought a meat pie, a skewer and an ale. All popular items, or so he’d been told. Then, he found himself a seat at the nearest clean table. His teeth sunk into the pie and he grimaced. Yes, definitely under-seasoned.

  Someone sat behind him.

  “I never thought I’d see you here in person,” he said.

  Wallace grunted. “And who else would you trust?”

  His contact shrugged. Wallace could see the rise of his shoulder in the sun’s shadow cast on the ground.

  “As reluctant as I am to pull you from a successful assignment and put your position in jeopardy, you’re currently the only agent in network that hasn’t disappointed me,” Wallace said.

  That earned a grunt.

  “I’m just surprised it took you this long. Three months doesn’t seem like a length of time Roderic would be happy with,” the man said.

  Wallace wrinkled his nose and kept his voice low as he hissed, “Be respectful. He is still your monarch.”

  “Oh, yes. Wouldn’t want to disrespect the bastard king while we’re in the middle of enemy territory. Let’s praise him from the rooftops, why not?” the man said, waving his hands around.

  “Quiet.”

  “Relax,” said his contact, his shadow waving a hand dismissively. “No one’s paying attention. They’re too busy emerging from their dens, taking deep breaths of fresh air.”

  Then, he belched. Wallace flinched at the noise. It was followed by the hollow sound of a tankard hitting a wooden table.

  “Are you drunk?” Wallace hissed.

  “Hardly,” his contact scoffed. “Just…enjoying the likes of Adern’s hospitality. I’ve been idle three months. Can’t expect nothing with nothing.”

  “You call this hospitality?” Wallace asked, picking up the skewer and eying it with distrust.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  He attempted a bite. Horrible. He threw it down in disgust.

  There was a snort. "Their food is terrible, but their ale is quite delicious.”

  “Hardly worth wetting my tongue with,” Wallace grumbled.

  “Then you’ve never had the ale in Isam,” the man said. “Hard to get a proper barrel there if the grains aren’t growing right.”

  Wallace sneered. “Well, that’s why we’re in this mess, right? Don’t forget our goals here. What Adern denied us.”

  There was a pause, then a sigh.

  “Fine. Right. Business.”

  He shifted his arm back and slipped Wallace a piece of paper. Wallace took it, fighting the urge to glance around. He may be out of practice, but he wasn’t naive.

  He unfolded the parchment and stared at the name. His brow raised, impressed.

  “How did you get this?” he asked.

  “Same way I got the other stuff,” his contact said, shrugging.

  He gave no other information, nor did Wallace press for it.

  “So, they have it in an old watch tower,” Wallace hummed thoughtfully. “Entries? Exits?”

  “Little. The archmage laid wards and things around the place. One wrong step and I could lose a limb. There are small openings, but those are often guarded well,” the man said.

  He raised his tankard and signaled for the girl at the stall to fill it up again.

  “But they are openings nonetheless,” Wallace pressed.

  “Yes.”

  Wallace nodded. “What do you need to get in there? And what will you need to get out?”

  “Nothing,” the man said.

  “What do you mean-“

  He stopped short as the girl came round to fill up the tankard with a small barrel. Her skirts swished as she smiled and leaned forward to pour. Wallace’s contact reached out to touch her hand, slipping her a small coin.

  “Thank you, sweet girl,” he said.

  “My pleasure, good sir,” she said.

  Her voice lifted pleasantly, invitingly. Wallace nearly sneered at the ridiculous display of femininity, but he could see her shadow turning towards him.

  “And you, sir? Would you also like another glass?” she asked him.

  “No,” Wallace said stiffly, covering his tankard with a hand. Then, reluctantly, he added, “Thank you.”

  The girl didn’t argue. She only winked once at the man behind Wallace before flouncing back to her stall. Wallace immediately started up again.

  “What do you mean you need nothing? You just said the place is impossible to infiltrate,” he asked.

  “I did not say impossible. I just said it would be difficult,” the man said, taking a sip. “And when I said nothing, I meant nothing yet. I only need time.”

  “Time is not a luxury we can afford,” Wallace grumbled, irritated.

  “Time is the only thing any of us can afford right now. As eager as Roderic is to get back to the fighting, I’m certain he’s more eager for solid results.”

  “But what does time actually purchase?” Wallace asked.

  The man suddenly laughed into his tankard. “Think about it. The numbers of the Second Knight Order are down since we first started this war, and they just recently lost their knight commander and have not replaced him. High Commander Voss is taking over, but he’s also got a war to plan. And in a place as large as that tower with only three fourths of their man power remaining, any one is bound to lose sleep. And once that happens…”

  He trailed off. Wallace considered. Yes. It was sound. Other might argue that Garrick Voss would simply find himself reinforcements, but Wallace knew Voss. He was not a simple man. His exclusivity had prevented Savidor from placing anyone in those ranks for a long time, and his eye for recruits was astounding. The Silver Hound, Riven Hawthorne, and the Berserker, Edain Glennan, had become terrors on the battlefield. Many good Savidorian soldiers lost their lives to those two alone. And the rest? Creatures of loyalty and fervor.

  But they were also mortal. Human mortal. They would tire eventually. And three months of watching a monster all hours would strain any man enough to make mistakes.

  “Then you have to get it out,” Wallace said.

  His contact hesitated. “Sir, the risk is too great-“

  “I didn’t ask about risk. I didn’t ask at all,” Wallace said, tone short. “You must get it out.”

  Wallace felt the hesitation this time - tension in the shoulders. Honestly, why was it so hard to follow orders? But he bit his tongue and waited.

  “It’s a dangerous extraction. We have no established contacts. The crown has begun their witch hunt in the city, meaning we’ve had to cut contact from all remaining sources. Smuggling it out would be impossible-“

  “Then get it free. Voss is controlling it somehow. Loosen that control, and it will get out.”

  “The city-“

  “-should never have stood in the way in the first place,” Wallace snapped. “Honestly, can’t you people just follow orders?”

  He quieted down quickly as the serving girl reappeared to clear away his bowl.

  “Can I get anything else for you, sir?” she asked.

  “Er, no. Thank you,” Wallace said.

  She dipped a curtsy and left. Behind him, the spy sat still, quiet. For a moment, Wallace wondered if he would be facing yet another incompetent fool. He’d had enough of those in the last three months at Fordan’s Hill. All incompetent.

  “I’ll let you know what happens and when,” his contact said finally.

  “See that you do not wait to long. This window will only be open for as long as Voss remains stubborn. And we both know he is easily adaptable,” Wallace warned.

  “Of course.”

  He drained the last of his ale, stood, then stretched.

  “One last piece of advice,” he said. “Don’t use those papers again. My commander finally got the list of the dead and missing. You’ll be caught the next time you come through those gates.”

  “You seem to have your man well under your thumb,” Wallace muttered.

  “Of course.”

  “Then one last piece of advice for you as well,” Wallace said.

  Behind him, the man stood and stretched. “What is it?”

  “You are entirely replaceable. If you do not see this through, you will be of no use anymore. Do not disappoint,” Wallace threatened.

  His contact paused. For a moment, the silence stretched between them.

  “Of course,” he said finally. “I expect nothing less.”

  Then, he was gone - slipped through the crowd like a wraith. Wallace lifted the skewer once more to his mouth and attempted to take another bite.

  Still awful.