Chapter Twenty-Six Guthnyr #2
“This is Lohra,” Deyna introduced her. “Niece to Tuhlvyr Telmyrk. She’s a clever little thing who knows more than she should about her uncle’s business.
The most important being that the useless fecker was fast approaching penury.
” Deyna sighed, gesturing to the pile of untidy books and papers.
“The Vortigurn’s taxes, and his own mismanagement, had set him on the course to imminent ruin.
No wonder he was so keen to win a victory.
He probably hoped a kingly reward would balance his books. ”
“I take it this means there’s no gold to be had here?” Guthnyr enquired.
Deyna unearthed a small oaken chest from amid the mess, opening it to reveal a cache of coins and gleaming jewels.
“Lohra was kind enough to show me the flagstone beneath which this was hidden,” she said, holding up a ruby necklace for inspection.
“It’s not enough to pay an army, but it’s something.
Other than that…” She shrugged, dropping the necklace into the chest and closing it.
“Would it be too much to hope you managed to save the food stocks?” she asked.
“Some, not all.” Guthnyr wiped a hand across his brows before scattering parchment from a nearby chair and sitting down.
Extinguishing the fires had required hours of labour.
Even now, with night fully fallen, he had been obliged to set watch parties on the smouldering ruins, lest the blaze spring back to life.
Not all the slaves had joined his efforts at first, some gathering what loot they could and fleeing the city, but others had stayed and gradually taken their turn in the bucket chains.
As the hours wore on, some townsfolk emerged from hiding to add their labour, many of them shopkeepers or artisans unable to bear the prospect of watching their livelihoods perish.
The arrival of the full menda ensured that most of Sehlumvek would still be standing come the morn.
Knowing their intense dislike of towns, Guthnyr had spared the Morvek the toil, instead sending them to ward the southern approaches.
They also had instructions to leave any returning townsfolk unmolested. So far, very few had done so.
“At least we’ve less mouths to feed,” he said. “At best, I’d reckon this place now holds a quarter of its former population.”
“No great loss,” Deyna said, pursing her lips. “I doubt they’d be willing to fight the Vortigurn in any case.” Sitting, she propped her feet on the desk, a troubled cast to her brow.
“What?” Guthnyr prompted. He knew by now that when she started to think, it was always worth listening to the result.
“Telmyrk,” she said. “He was stupid, but not this stupid. Poor as piss with all his best warriors gone across the sea, yet he still thought he could beat us. I know it was a hard fight, but even if he’d gained the river, he didn’t have the numbers to take the Wehrtrova.
And yet, he emptied this place of all but a few guards and marched off, seemingly confident in victory. ”
“Those born to privilege often underestimate those not,” Guthnyr pointed out.
“Not to this extent.” She shook her head. “I can’t parse how he could make such an error. There’s no sense to it.”
“He… had been promised…” The words, faltering and faint came from Lohra. Bright eyes flicking between them, she swallowed hard and continued, “Promised victory.”
“By whom, dear child?” Deyna asked.
The girl stuttered over the next word, as if it were more of a curse than a name. “The Kuh-Kurgynrahk.”
Deyna removed her legs from the table and stood. “There’s a name I wouldn’t expect to hear from your dainty lips,” she said, moving towards Lohra. “I assume you heard it from your uncle?”
The girl shrank from her, eyes downcast. “I wasn’t supposed to… but I knew places to hide, and listen. He spoke of the Kurgynrahk to Father sometimes, and always in whispers.”
“As well he might,” Deyna said.
“Kurgynrahk?” Guthnyr repeated, parsing the unfamiliar Nihlvarian phrasing until he found the meaning. “Plague bird?”
“A name used only among Tuhlvyrs,” Deyna told him. “And not fondly. It’s what we call the Vortigurn’s chief courtier, though that is a poor title, for he is many things. Including the king’s spymaster.”
“So the Vortigurn has his own Tielwald,” Guthnyr mused. “He wouldn’t happen to be a one-eyed old man with a mean tongue, would he?”
“Actually yes,” Deyna replied. “Except he retains both eyes. His true name is Moyirn, and, in a land well endowed with self-serving villains, he is truly the worst. Though, his judgement is irksomely sound. Strange that he should mis-advise Telmyrk so badly.” She turned her attention back to Lohra.
“Did the Kurgynrahk send a messenger recently?”
“His messages always came by bird.” The girl raised a tremulous finger to point at a cabinet propped against the wall. “My uncle hid them behind that.”
Dragging the cabinet aside revealed only a bare wall until Lohra knelt down to tug a piece of mortar from between two stones. Reaching inside, she extracted a thin leather wallet. Taking it, Deyna emptied the contents onto the desk: a dozen small scrolls inscribed with unfamiliar characters.
“Cyphered,” she said, grimacing. “And one I can’t read since the Kurgynrahk never trusted me enough to send me such messages.”
“It’s a simple substitution code,” Lohra said. “With some additional meaningless characters to complicate decipherment.”
Deyna raised a surprised eyebrow. “Your uncle taught it to you?”
Lohra shook her head. “I learned it myself. As I said, it’s fairly simple.”
“Sit.” Deyna stood aside, gesturing for the girl to take her place at the desk. “You have some work to do.”
Sitting down, Lohra splayed her hands on the desk and drew a breath. “If I do this, you’ll protect me? You won’t give me to… to them?”
“You protection is already guaranteed…” Guthnyr began before Deyna waved him to silence.
Regarding Lohra with a faint but fond grin, she said, “For the first time in my life I begin to see the appeal of having children.” Placing her hand on the top of the girl’s blonde head, she turned it to the cyphered messages.
“Do this and you’ll enjoy more than mere protection, dear. Now get to work.”
Expecting the Tielvik’s menda, a conglomeration of the dispossessed and the outlaw, to resist the lure of loot to be had among so many abandoned houses, was a fool’s hope.
For much of the next day they rampaged through the streets, helping themselves to whatever treasures they could unearth from rubble or hiding place.
Guthnyr enforced a modicum of restraint by constantly roving the city in company with Sygurn and his more trustworthy comrades.
He ensured the premises of those ordinary citizens who had chosen to stay were unmolested, and quelled the worst excesses of wanton destruction.
He was also unstinting in the beatings delivered to those who sought to visit their ire on defenceless townsfolk.
The message soon spread to the various Travka bands roving the city: you can steal, but no violence.
When evening fell the rapacious thievery shifted into celebration.
Sehlumvek was well stocked with wine and soon drunken merriment became the prevailing mood.
Guthnyr made no effort to fully restore order, that would come tomorrow when he had to turn this mob back into an army. For now, they had earned their revels.
Returning to the Tuhlvyr’s hall he found Deyna waiting in the largest bedroom.
He had entertained the notion her mood might be one of lustful triumph, so was disappointed to find her both pensive and irritable.
“Quiet!” she hissed when he closed the door with a thump.
“She’s sleeping.” She nodded to the blonde-haired head poking from the bed’s quilted blankets, then beckoned him into the Tuhlvyr’s study.
“It seems we have a problem,” she said, moving to the desk.
He found it ominous that all the other papers had been cleared away to leave only a single sheet of parchment.
The words inscribed upon it were rendered in an unfamiliar form of archaic Ascarlian script.
Although he had learned to read it under his great-grandfather’s often impatient instruction, Guthnyr found this collection of characters unintelligible.
“The Kurgynrahk’s messages to Telmyrk,” Deyna explained in response to Guthnyr’s baffled frown.
“From your mood, I take it there’s something of grave importance here?”
Her accent slipped into coarseness as she took the sheet from him.
“Fecking right there is. Here.” She traced a finger over a line of script.
“‘Find the Travka filth twenty miles south-east of their den three days hence,’” she translated.
“‘They move as a mob, with no discipline. Kill all you find.’”
“He sent Telmyrk in the right direction, but at the wrong time,” Guthnyr mused. “And appears misinformed about the nature of our menda.”
“Misinformed? Perhaps. The question is, by who?” Deyna’s finger moved to another line. “None of the messages are dated, but I’d guess this one was received before the other. It reads: ‘The Redbreast sings of a Tielvik sowing rebellion among the Travka. Have a care and gather what forces you can.’”
“The Redbreast?” Guthnyr repeated.
“The name given to the source of this information.” Grimacing, Deyna tossed the sheet onto the desk. “It appears we have a spy in our midst.”