Chapter Ten #3
The change in subject drew the soldier’s attention back to him. “I’ll protect it with my dying breath, whether the threat comes from within or without.”
“Varro is a threat,” Archer said succinctly. “His choices and his supporters’ actions led to countless deaths.”
“How many Bellacostans have you skewered on your own sword?” Jasper asked. “How many have you killed in the past few days?”
Archer had done his best to avoid deaths on the battlefield—it hadn’t always been enough. Not that his answer mattered. Like all the other Bellacostans set against the Arnsveld-Bellacosta alliance, this soldier only cared about his own beliefs, never the full story. “Tell us about the magic.”
Jasper stiffened, then tried to cover the telltale guilt with a sneer. “I’m not a mage, why would I know anything about magic?”
“I can smell it on you,” Griselda growled. “You smell like you walked through shit and tracked it all the way here.”
So he’s not a mage himself, but he probably came in contact with magic recently.
“That’s ridiculous. You have no proof of—”
A knock on the door interrupted him and Emera strode back into the room. “I searched his room as you ordered, General, and found this”—she held up a crumpled bit of parchment—“stuffed into the mattress of his bunk.”
Griselda’s face scrunched up in disgust. She grasped the parchment between her thumb and forefinger and held it as far away from her face as possible. “Thank you, Captain.”
After a cursory examination, Griselda passed the letter back to Emera, who walked it over to Archer’s desk, holding it gingerly like she might handle an explosive.
As she passed Jasper, he lunged from his chair, manacles rattling as he tried to snatch the letter back.
Emera’s elbow collided with his face with a harsh crunch and a spray of blood.
He fell back into the seat, clutching his broken nose and moaning in pain.
A few blood droplets had spattered onto the letter smearing some of the ink. Archer avoided touching them as he read the brief message.
The sparrow flies east to seek shelter from the storm. It hopes to find others nesting in the hills.
“Explain,” Archer ordered, holding up the letter.
“Fuck you,” Jasper spat, blood spraying from his lips.
Archer glanced at Emera and ordered, “Isolate him from the others.”
“You sure you want to keep him alive?” Griselda asked. “We kept Varro alive and look at how many problems that caused.” She’d always been a staunch advocate of eliminating problems at the roots.
“He might receive other letters,” Archer explained. “If we kill him now, the magical connection may break, and we’ll lose a source of information.”
She pursed her lips in displeasure but nodded to Emera, who dragged Jasper out of the room. Once the door closed again, Griselda eased herself into the chair across from Archer. “So, any idea what that means?” she asked, waving at the letter.
Darian read it over Archer’s shoulder. “Someone is trying to set up a meeting in Sparrow Hill.”
Griselda’s brow furrowed. “Why’s that name sound familiar?”
“Close to the border,” Archer replied. “Penn and Valerian were headed there to search for Niall.”
“Wonderful, the chickens are flocking together again,” Griselda grumbled. “Just tell Val to keep an eye out and …” she trailed off with a curse.
Archer and Silas had previously communicated with Penn and Valerian through an enchanted book.
One person would write in their copy, and the message would appear in the other copy.
It used fewer materials than a messenger spell and didn’t require a mage to recast the spell every time.
Unfortunately, the book had burned in the palace fire.
Until Valerian sent a magical message of his own, Archer had no easy way to contact their search party.
“Do you think Varro would attend the meeting himself?” Archer asked Darian.
The sergeant hesitated. “I’m not sure. If he escaped on the ship, it would make more sense to meet them somewhere along the coast. Sparrow Hill isn’t far—only half-a-day’s ride—but it isn’t the closest option. This also isn’t his handwriting, and I’ve never seen Varro use magical messages.”
“What about Niall?” Archer asked.
“Oh right, I forgot that little shit was a mage,” Gris said, rubbing her nose. “Not a very strong one, since he didn’t make much of an impression.”
“He doesn’t have to be strong to be a problem.” Archer tapped the letter, lips pressed in a grim line. If Penn and Valerian were still in Sparrow Hill when the traitors arrived, they would be outnumbered. Especially if Niall and Varro were working together again.
They could send a search party in that direction to try to intercept the traitors, but Archer wanted more information first. He carefully tucked the letter into one of the desk drawers, out of sight.
They cleaned up the blood from the scuffle and Griselda took her place by the door again.
Once the tableau was reset, they called the next soldier in and began the whole process again.