The Adventures of Grant Scotland, Volume One: The Unlikely Spy

Spy for a Dead Empire

Copyright 2014 (Revised) Dan McClure

Published by Dan McClure at Smashwords

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Description

AELFA, THE GRAND CAPITAL of the once mighty Aelfan Empire, has fallen. Barbarian war parties and nomadic tribes harass the retreating and broken legions that once overawed them. All that stands against them now is the city of Zyren, the last bastion of Aelfan rule.

Acting as a spy for Zyren is Grant Scotland, a man leading a double life because his own had been taken away from him by the very people he serves. An unwilling recruit into the business of clandestine missions and deceit, he searches for anything real to cling to as the world around him devolves into insanity. And when an old friend shows up asking him to help save his family by delivering a mysterious book to a shadowy figure, Grant's two lives collide and he is thrust into an even stranger world than he had known; one where ancient magic is wielded by deadly players who compete against one another for a prize greater than simply the rotting carcass of a dead empire.

Dedication

To my mother for encouraging me.

To my father for believing in me.

To my brother for supporting me.

To my wife for seeing the best in me.

To my friends for ignoring the worst in me.

And to my last job for firing me.

Contents

Chapter 1.1

Chapter 1.2

Chapter 1.3

Chapter 1.4

Chapter 1.5

Chapter 1.6

Chapter 1.7

Chapter 1.8

Chapter 1.9

Chapter 1.10

Chapter 1.11

Chapter 1.12

Chapter 1.13

Chapter 1.14

Chapter 1.15

Chapter 1.16

Chapter 1.17

Chapter 1.18

Chapter 1.19

Chapter 1.20

Chapter 1.21

CHAPTER 1.1

LIFE IS LIKE A SINKING SHIP; it's lonely and uncomfortable and overwhelmed by the certainty of creeping doom. And wet. Very wet. Well, my life was like that anyway. At least, it seemed that way to me at that particular point in time—stuffed as I was in a barrel that smelled like old fish and listening to water trickle into the cargo hold around me. I cursed, shifted my legs underneath me, and lifted the lid to peek outside and confirm what I already knew to be true.

The hold was dark because the main hold doors above me were sealed tightly shut, but I could hear the water gushing in from somewhere. I knew that there was probably a narrow door located in a wall that partitioned the hold from the galley. After the galley would be the oars and a small ladder that ascended to the main deck. I eased myself out of the barrel I had been hiding in since they brought their cargo onboard earlier that morning, and then stumbled around on soggy sacks of grain until I could find a wall. Working as quickly as possible, I probed with my fingers and sloshed my way around, feeling the edges of the timber for the doorframe.

I found it just as the water level was up to my knees. I lifted the latch and braced myself for the small flood of water that pushed in from the galley. A loaf of bread and an apple floated by me into the hold. The water level was up to my waist now and the ship was certainly sinking faster than I would have liked.

I waded to the opening across the small room and could hear some shouts and voices fading fast as the last of the oarsmen climbed up to the main deck and jumped off. I peeked through the archway and saw no one left at the oars. Suddenly, the bow of the ship lurched down and I almost pitched backward with it, but at the last second managed to grab one of the rungs of the ladder nearby and hauled myself up as the sunken bow compartments continued to slowly tilt the stern of the ship into the air.

There was no one left on the main deck and only a few feet away was the door to the captain's cabin, tucked underneath the stern quarterdeck. I hoped against reason that he was still in there, waiting until he was sure nothing could be done or all his men were overboard or maybe just trying to save what personal possessions he could. The ship stabilized and stopped tilting, but I still had an upward run to reach the door. Once there, I turned the simple wooden handle and it fell open, spilling a few oranges and a candleholder down the deck toward the waiting water.

The cabin was small—most vessels this size didn't even have one—so it contained little more than a cot on one side and a chest on the other and a small table bolted to the wall opposite from the door. Above the table was a hatchway with the hatch open looking aft and showing nothing but blue sky. The captain was busy trying to mount the table and push himself out of the hatch when he turned and saw me.

Who the hell are you? he asked in a surprised shout. The timber of the hull creaked ominously.

Give me the necklace, I said through a hoarse voice. My throat was dry and pinched from the long night of waiting in the barrel and the terror that accompanied the prospect of sudden drowning.

How did you . . . oh hell, never mind.

The captain turned and resumed trying to exit the hatchway, so I sprang toward him and grabbed his trousers and used gravity to help pull him back. He lost his grip on the hatch, and we tumbled down against the wall, the captain almost spilling out of the door. He caught himself and cursed and quickly regained balance on the awkwardly tilted floor before drawing a small knife from his belt. His other hand held a small sack and he kept it pressed against the doorframe as he slashed at me. I pulled back just in time to keep the blade from slicing my neck and then dived onto his arm before he could try a backhand slash.

I pinned his knife hand under my right arm and quickly jabbed at his face with my left. He howled as I connected with an eyeball and tried to swing at me with the sack. It was awkward and barely grazed the side of my head and left him off balance. I grabbed the sack with my left hand and with my arms crossed in front of him holding him down; I thrust my forehead at his wincing eye. He gasped and let go of everything and began to fall through the door as the deck started to shift and tilt again. His hands scrambled at the doorway and managed to hold on long enough to keep from tumbling into the water that was slowly eating his ship.

I scooped up the knife and the sack and quickly checked to make sure the necklace was inside it. The captain was trying to climb back into the cabin and get ready to make another attack. I braced myself in the corner between the tilted floor and the wall and the bunk, and I showed him the knife and shook my head.

Don't.

Who are you? Who sent you?

Leave now while you still have your life.

I'll find you.

Wouldn't advise it.

The captain turned in the doorway and jumped into the water. I scrambled up toward the hatch and heaved myself out onto the stern of the ship as it rapidly tilted to an almost 90-degree angle with the water. I took the necklace out of the bag and attached it around my neck. Holding the knife I dived into the water and began swimming toward the shore about a mile away. I was reasonably certain the captain wouldn't try to swim after me, but I held onto the knife just in case, placing it between my teeth to make swimming a bit easier. At least, that's the reason I told myself. In reality, I hated the ocean—too many unfriendly things living in there that you just couldn't see until they decided to eat you. It was ridiculous, I knew, but the knife made my swim a little less anxious.

It was mid-morning by the time I dragged myself onto shore, crawled up to the shingle, and collapsed among the reedy dunes. Swimming a mile, as it turned out, was much more exhausting than walking one. I hadn't planned on the swim at all last night when I had planted the acid mine above the ship's water line.

The leak was supposed to have been only big enough to force the ship back to port for repairs. While the ship was being worked on, I had planned on stealing the necklace from the captain (because most merchant captains typically stay onboard while repairs are being done, but their crews go ashore) and slipping out unnoticed, or at least much drier. But, best-laid plans and all that.

After a few minutes of rest, I heaved a sigh and got up and started my walk farther inland. I didn't want to chance meeting any of the ship's crew on the way into town, so I headed around the east side of the city to approach it from the south. Most of the crew members would be getting ashore on the east or west sides of the bay or even somewhere up the north coast if they got caught in the current. Then they'd use the main roads to get back to town. It meant a bit of a walk for me across some farmland, but much better to circle the city and come in from the south than risk getting caught by the angry captain and a slew of water-logged thugs.

Around noon I determined that the strong sun of late spring had dried me out enough and that my belly was empty enough to force me to turn back north. After a short while I found the Emperor's Way, the major road that had once helped keep the glorious Aelfan Empire united and prosperous, and I used the road to guide me back to the city.

Now that the empire was no longer unified or prosperous (or even practically in existence), the road was rapidly falling into disrepair—the city, too, for that matter. Still, the cracked and weed-riddled cobblestones were in good enough shape to serve what little trade traffic still braved the countryside, and I was glad to see one or two wagons pass as I walked into the once-glorious city of Aelfa, former capital of the mightiest empire the world had ever known.

Legend held that the city was founded more than a thousand years ago by a race of immortals who had dwelled in the deep forests by the mouth of the Ael River. The city was meant to be a place where immortals and mortals could meet and trade and live side-by-side, but the mortals kept cutting down the forest in order to make room for their own buildings. Eventually, the immortals tired of this destruction of their beloved forest and began a war to eradicate their neighbors. The mortals had grown too numerous and strong and controlled too much of the city, and they defeated the immortals and drove them into hiding, never to be seen or heard from again.

A myth, no doubt, I thought as I walked through the South Gates, now unguarded and flanked by crumbling walls. But it must have sounded like a better origin story than a more historically accurate tale of slaughtering an innocent neighboring fishing village and taking over their town. That myth was probably more necessary now than ever before. Since the barbarian invasion and conquest of the city, the local Aelfan inhabitants had little to be proud of and even less to look forward to with their new Huthan rulers, who were more interested in plunder and oppression than construction and administration.

I walked up the Emperor's Way until I passed the Imperial Palace, the former home of the Aelfan emperors and current home of King Reynard, leader of the most recent sackers of Aelfa, a Huthan tribe called the Gregyans. I could see a few of them hanging around the palace steps and looking out of place in their heavy furs and ring-studded leathers. I made sure the necklace was well out of sight under my tunic and kept my eyes focused on the ground in front of me and quickly turned right onto the Trade Way toward the Docks District, where my home and business were located.

Orwen's Tomes and Journals wasn't really mine, but since Orwen passed away last year and didn't have any children to pass it on to, I sort of took it over. Besides, it wasn't like there was much of a bureaucracy in place to look after dealing with the estate of the deceased. I knew the trade and the business and that's all anyone cared about, as far as I could tell. In fact, not many people seemed to care about books at all in recent years, so business was usually slow. Aside from putting together religious texts for the various faiths sparring for the eternal souls of the remaining denizens of the city, there wasn't much call for book binding. Truth be told, I made more from dealing in underground pornography than anything else.

Around a dozen years ago, Aelfa had been sacked by the Gregyans, but instead of moving on and sacking other towns, they decided to stay and carve out a kingdom around the old capital itself. Although they were surprisingly reasonable rulers, they weren't terribly literate. All the great comedies, tragedies, and histories so cherished by most of the Aelfan people were of little interest to the Gregyans.

Instead, they found the simple smut pamphlets and lewdly illustrated bawdy tales of nymph porn to be endlessly amusing. That industry, at least, was booming. The religious cult associated with the current rulers was also especially strict when it came to tolerating forms of sexual expression, so although the smut was basically outlawed, it of course was also highly sought after and therefore lucrative enough to keep my humble business afloat.

I unlocked my door and entered my single-story stand-alone dwelling located between a run-down two-story apartment block and a wainwright. I felt a little guilty opening the store in the afternoon, but I figured I probably hadn't lost much business and hadn't much of a choice in the matter anyway. Solin hadn't given me much of a window of opportunity to snag the necklace.

I slipped behind my desk and into the small bedroom on the side of the shop and withdrew the jeweled piece from around my neck. It wasn't especially beautiful, but something about its simple silver chain and the deep blue of the lapis studs and the reflectiveness of the modest sapphire center piece made me feel very relaxed and even somewhat comforted; as if the sunlight reflected off it were also providing some warmth.

I shook my head and wondered what Solin wanted with such a piece. After folding it in a work smock, I stored it beneath a floorboard under the bed. I knew that was a lousy place to hide something, but it wouldn't have to stay hidden for long because I was meeting Solin that night to hand it over.

Solin was my handler in Aelfa. Technically, he was my boss, but I had been working with him for almost ten years now, so I tended to view him more as a peer than a superior. He, of course, still viewed himself as vastly superior, not just to me, but to most people, and rarely missed an opportunity to remind me about it. I took it in stride. He wasn't getting out of this crumbling city any quicker than I was.

I shut the curtain to the bedroom and busied myself with straightening the desk and dusting the shelves of books and scrolls. That never takes very long, so soon I was hard at work in the back of the shop copying various religious scrolls into one bound volume. I kept the front door open because it was getting to feel like early summer and the sun was warm and bright in the afternoon.

Afternoon, Scotland.

I turned away from the work table and saw Samael, the local constable, standing in the doorway. He was tall and broad for an Aelfan, almost as big as the lumbering Huthans. I was a half-breed myself, with the sharpened features and golden eyes of an Aelfan, but the larger body of a Huthan. My mother came from Aelfan stock and was still alive somewhere. I think.

My father was a Huthan who had served his time in the legions and had assimilated. Unfortunately, in the most recent conflict that ended with the conquest and subjugation of Aelfa, neither side trusted him and he didn't survive the conflict. It wasn't a memory I cared to revisit. Samael reminded me of him sometimes—the good parts, anyway.

Samael sauntered inside the shop and grinned at me. He served as constable for the Docks District, helping to keep peace for whomever the current rulers might be at the time. In fact, we were lucky to have him, because most districts didn't have a dedicated native peacekeeper and were subject to the whims of whomever the king decided to appoint to look after them. Sam wasn't exactly loved, but on the other hand he generally kept the peace and also kept the worst of the barbarian gangs from roaming our streets.

What's the word, Sam?

I came by this morning, but you weren't open.

Stayed up a little late last night, so I decided to sleep in this morning. Sorry I missed you. Did you need something?

Nope. I was just in the neighborhood. A ship sunk just outside the harbor, so I was down by the docks helping to pull any survivors out of the drink.

Really? Sorry I wasn't there to help. Everyone ok?

I think we got everyone. No fatalities that I heard of, anyway. The crew had no idea what happened. None of them could explain it. It was as if the ship somehow immediately sprang a huge leak.

I got up and poured a cup of wine for each of us from a skin I kept hanging behind the desk and handed one to Sam. Well, that can happen. Boats get old. Timber rots. That kind of thing.

S'pose . . . Sam drained his cup and placed it on the desk. Ah, well. What the hell I know about boats anyway? Thanks for the drink. Certainly hits the spot after a busy morning. Sam got up and headed to the door.

Anytime.

He stopped before he left and turned back and looked at me. His cloth cap was in his hands and he was idly fiddling with it. So, you were in all morning, huh?

Yeah. Didn't even get out of bed until around noon.

Busy night?

Well, I was catching up on work. You know how it is. Work by candlelight and you lose track of time.

Sam's gaze slid to the back of the shop and then back to me. He gave a slight nod after a second and then walked out with a See ya' around, Grant.

I finished my wine and then returned to the work table. Sam might have been suspicious about my activity last night or this morning, but no more so than usual. He probably suspected I engaged in other activities besides bookbinding, but he had never accused me of anything and we had worked together on more than one occasion to keep the Docks District relatively safe from both crime and plunder. If anything, he might have thought I was a smuggler and he wouldn't have been very far from the truth. I've certainly done my fair share of smuggling in my line of work.

I wouldn't say I operated on the wrong side of the law, but I guess that was mostly because there wasn't much law to be on the wrong side of. Since the first sacking of Aelfa, the capital of the empire had shifted to Zyren far to the east. There, the empire still lived on and its armies were still fighting the tribes of barbarians who never seemed to stop pouring out of the mountains and the vast plains to the north and west.

It was Zyren that trained me and sent me here to spy on its enemies and perform certain clandestine operations whenever it saw fit. This wasn't exactly my dream job, but it was a living. Also, I hadn't been given much choice in the matter anyhow. My recruitment into the service hadn't exactly been voluntary.

As evening approached, I grabbed my ill-gotten gain, stuffed it in my tunic, and locked up the shop. Solin's clothier shop was on the other side of the Capitol District, in a part of the city that had once boasted the wealthiest citizens and the most exclusive merchants. Although his clientele wasn't as glamorous as it had once been, Solin maintained a decent business outfitting the new Gregyan elite in the styles of the old Aelfan elite. Everybody up there got a big kick out of that, and as far as I could tell Solin didn't mind. In fact, the more Huthans, Durfans, Nuuls, and Urkens he could meet, the easier it became for him to do his other job—collecting intelligence and passing it back to Zyren.

The shop would be closed for the evening, but I rarely went in the front door anyway, because someone like me couldn't afford anything he sold and there wasn't much he could claim he needed copying or binding in order to serve as a cover for our meetings. Instead, I turned off the main street about a block away and went around the back of an abandoned two-story dwelling.

The back door had long since rotted away from its hinges, but you couldn't tell by looking. I lifted it away, slid inside, and lifted it back in place. Inside, the place was largely empty, just some broken pottery and the occasional piece of disintegrating furniture. I was in what once must have been the kitchen and there was just enough light left to see a dark passage to my right. I knew it led to what once was the indoor privy. Still was, I guess, though thankfully no one was using it anymore. I headed over and felt around inside the small room for the cracked wood lid and opened it. Down the poop chute I went.

When I had started using it, I had spent a week cleaning it out and installing handrails. I wasn't worried about the building getting new tenants—Aelfa had only shrunk as long as I'd been there. As far as I could tell, I could count on this little privy being my own secret door for a good long while. It still smelled like it should have of course, but that was mostly due to the sewer system it opened above. The set of sturdy rungs I had installed led down to the dark, noisome passages below.

After a short descent, I dropped onto the carved stonework floor and took out my lightstone. It was a small opaque stone that had been polished on one end and remained rough on another—one of the few remaining trinkets of the glory days of the empire's mighty cadre of wizards. After I rapped the rough end against the wall and it began to glow, I made my way in the dim light down the passage in the direction of Solin's block of apartments.

A few minutes passed of walking along the murky passage and I took a sharp right turn into a narrow service corridor and went up a small iron ladder. At the top, I pushed open a hatchway into an old utility shed. These sheds were located in several locations around the city, but nobody used them anymore—well, not for the purposes of city maintenance anyhow. The shed was in an alley behind Solin's shop, so I slipped out into the twilight shadows and gave his back door a quick knock. After only a couple of seconds, it opened and I stepped into his storage room.

Unlike me, Solin had pure Aelfan blood. He was a little shorter and leaner and had the fine, aristocratic features characteristic of so many of the city's former rulers. I always had the feeling that Solin resented being charged with spying on the barbarians and especially for having to handle dirty half-breeds like me.

I always know just when you'll arrive. I can smell you coming as soon as you get into the alley, he sneered at me in his nasally voice.

Maybe I'll put a bathtub in the shed so I won't offend your sensibilities.

That's the kind of proactive thinking I like to see.

Here's the necklace, I said, as I withdrew the item from underneath my tunic and handed it to him. I almost drowned on that damn ship, by the way. That acid mine went off too quickly and almost ate half the ship before anyone could get off.

I'm sure you acquitted yourself well, despite it all, he murmured, as he inspected the jewelry. His eyes gleamed briefly, he grunted with satisfaction, and the necklace disappeared into his pocket. And besides, none of the crew was hurt, so no harm done.

Sure. What was so important about that thing we couldn't let him smuggle it out of the city anyway?

Some things you don't need to know.

Might help me out. That captain seemed more than a little inconvenienced.

You should have killed him, Solin said. His expression turned cold. He was a traitor and a thief. If he shows up on your doorstep, that's your problem.

Thanks, Solin. You're a pal.

That'll be all, Scotland. The empire thanks you for your service. Your efforts will be noted.

I snorted and turned and slipped back out. Although I was reasonably sure my efforts would indeed be noted, I also knew it wouldn't amount to much. At least, all the efforts I had been putting in during the last couple of years didn't seem to be amounting to much at all. Originally, I had been promised that after a few years in the discreet service of the emperor I'd receive my choice of assignments. That was ten years ago. I had given up making inquiries about it.

CHAPTER 1.2

I GAVE THE HEATSTONE A SHARP RAP on the desk and waited a second or two for its glossy black surface to turn bright red before lighting my short-pipe. The heatstone was another of the simple gadgets the Aelfan wizards of days long gone use to make by the basketful. The youngest of their apprentices would hawk them in every square of the city in order to help finance their schools and experiments.

At least, that's what Orwen had told me. He had actually seen Aelfa before it had fallen back when he was a kid. It was hard to reconcile his descriptions with the crumbling town I knew. I puffed the pipe and sighed and laid the stone back on the table and it faded to black and was completely cool again. A simple trinket most Aelfan imperial mages learned to make just before their journeyman days, but it never ceased to amaze the barbarians now ruling these lands. Too bad they killed most of the wizards who made them.

I smoked the short-pipe because I liked to take a smoke break after I finished a binding. All the books in the land were handcrafted, so each one had a signature binding, which I sweated to mimic in my restoration efforts. A Huthan friend of mine who was helping to convert an old temple into a new Church of the One God had asked me to restore a bunch of old books he found, so business was good at Orwen's Tomes and Journals, but it was also tiring. A man needed a breather every now and again. Smoking a full-sized pipe took too long and tended to lead to laziness. Ol' Grant Scotland's not one for laziness. Nope. Grant is for hard work. Honest work. An honest day's work for an honest day's—

The front door opened and the rusty iron bell above it yelped and whimpered. I practically threw my feet off the desk as a visitor entered. Ol' Grant is for daydreaming, apparently.

Yes, sir! How can I help you today? I quickly tapped out my short-pipe as I rose. Looking for anything in particular? Need something rebound?

Grant?

I squinted for a half second and then it dawned on me. Didn't recognize him with the whiskers. Fodor? Color me surprised. I didn't recognize you with the new growth. What's it been? Two years? I guess you survived the occupation, after all.

Fodor was an old business associate of Orwen for many years. Last I saw him, he was locking up his shop in Melas before the Zyrenese army came in and liberated it and took back control of the city from the Huthan tribe that had been occupying it. He had said he was going to hide out at his cousin's farm in the hills above the city until the smoke cleared.

Oh . . . uh, yes. Fodor touched the stubble on his chin. I guess I'm trying out a new look. Heh-heh. Well, Melas is recovering. My shop survived more or less intact. And how about you? Looks like you made it out all right.

Melas. That was a bad scene. I only paused a half second before replying. He didn't seem to notice. Yep. Caught the last boat out.

Good. Good. Fodor seemed distracted. Ah . . . Grant. I was also hoping to catch up with Orwen. Is he around?

Damn. Forgot about that. Of course he wouldn't have heard. Gahhh. Sorry, Fodor. I guess you didn't hear. Orwen passed away about eight months ago. I should have thought to try to get word to you.

Oh. His eyes went from distracted to sad to focused. What's on the old scribe's mind, anyhow? Well . . . well, that is unfortunate. Orwen was a good friend and a reliable partner. He . . . ah, he . . . didn't perchance leave anything for me, did he?

That made an oily gear click into motion somewhere in the suspicion center of my brain. Not that I know of. Was he holding something of yours?

Of a sort, yes. It's a book. A very old book. Very rare. Far too valuable for me to have kept in Melas these past years, so Orwen was kind enough to keep it hidden here for me. I'm not surprised he never mentioned it.

Well, I won't lie to you, Fodor; I checked all of Orwen's secret stashes after I cremated him and didn't find anything more valuable than a pouch of tripweed and a little bit of money.

Fodor grimaced and reached within his dusty and threadbare travel coat and under his tunic and pulled out a smooth, dark blue stone bound in a leather tie around his neck. That's because you didn't have this.

What's this? I asked, after he put it in my hand.

A key.

To what?

The hiding place for the book. Orwen never told me exactly where it was, just sent me that key with a letter that said the book was hidden in the Footwoods and the key fits the knot of a tree there. Bastard loved his little riddles.

It took only a few moments for me to puzzle it out. I had been living with Orwen for a number of years and had grown accustomed to his word games. I took two steps toward the back of the shop before I felt my neck hairs start dancing the jig they like to perform whenever I notice the picture seems too small for its frame. Say, Fodor, if it's just a book Orwen was keeping for you, why all the secrecy?

Well, it's very rare—

I got plenty of rare books stashed away until the powers that be let in an honest-to-god foreign merchant, but not one of them requires a key like this. Come on, Fodor. Spill it. What's this all about?

Fodor's eyes searched mine intensely. He somehow looked a little younger, a little more alert and suspicious than the distracted old man who had been standing there before. After a few seconds, his face softened.

Oh, Grant, I am sorry.

About what?

I wish there was some other way, but I'm afraid I must ask your help.

You mean with more than just fetching this book? I'm usually quick, but Fodor's sudden appearance out of my past had me playing catch up.

Yes.

Someone else wants it? Oh, those oily gears were spinning now.

Yes.

And they're threatening you?

Yes. They have my wife and my daughter.

Calista and Jillian. Calista was a great lady with a big heart. Jillian was a few years younger than me (I was around thirty, as near as I could figure) and had been widowed by the constant wars. They housed me, fed me, and made me feel an honored guest in their home while I was in Melas, the capital city of the former imperial province just north of Aelfa, supposedly trading books for Orwen, who had become too old to travel.

In actuality, the whole time I was passing information to my Zyrenese contacts about city defenses and troop readiness levels. One of Zyren’s Imperial Legions was marching to retake the city for the glory of the empire, whether the inhabitants wanted them to or not. Because of me, they had to evacuate the city they loved.

I had been a spy for Zyren for more than ten years, but that had been the first time I had any of my activities hit anywhere close to home. Most of the time, I just passed observations about politics here in Aelfa on to my contact and laid low. I hoped my actions didn't inadvertently cause any of Fodor's current mess, but what the hell did it matter, anyway? I owed him big, whether he knew it or not.

Tell me everything.

Fodor dug into his long and tattered woolen overcoat and pulled out a pipe. He packed it while he started to speak. We came back to Melas about a year ago. The shop had clearly been broken into, but nothing had been stolen. Everything was tossed about and turned over, but nothing was missing. We straightened up and after a few days everything was back to normal. The Zyrenese army was mainly comprised of country-born Aelfans who had little interest in books, so business was a bit slow . . . but, you know, I always depended more on foreigners for my profits anyway.

Aelfans were normally good customers in the book business, but since the invasion of the barbarian tribes, they had little money and even less use for reading. Half the empire had been overrun by Urken hordes and the other half was split between the Huthan and Durfan tribes and the last bastion of the old empire, Zyren. The cities were ruled by whichever tribe had decided to settle in and try to make a new home or just pillage, tax, and bully the Aelfan inhabitants. As for the countryside, it was lawless and dangerous to say the least.

Maybe the beginning of THIS particular story was what I meant. I could be kind of an ass sometimes.

Fodor simply puffed on his pipe and nodded. Quite right. Apologies, Grant. One day I came home from visiting the new minister of trade—who, by the way, is just some colonel in the legion who doesn't know a trade license from a zoning permit—and found Calista and Jillian gone. It didn't take long for me to discover a note left on my desk with my wife's wedding ring. It said Get the Book of Life by the first of September or you won't see your family again. Bring it here on your own. You will be watched. And that was when I left for Aelfa.

Anyone follow you?

Most definitely.

Describe him.

Might be Huthan with a bit of Urken, or vice versa, Fodor muttered as he puffed thoughtfully on his pipe. Wears a dark-brown hooded cloak. Usually has a short sword, ill-concealed. Scar above the left eye. Eyes dark. Hair braided and black.

Damn, Fodor, did you get his name and address, too?

I think he likes chicken soup and weak mead? Fodor managed with a half smile around his pipe. Fodor was far sharper than he usually let on. I always suspected Orwen and Fodor did a few more adventurous things in their younger days than collect books, but I never pried. Usually, prying into someone's past resulted in them prying back, which was too costly for a guy like me.

This guy in town?

Green Briar.

How do you know?

That's where I'm staying.

Fah! I exclaimed and threw up my hands. Why don't we just go ambush him now?

Not sure if he made contact with someone here—too risky if he did. That's why I need you. Well, that and everything else.

An operative in a strange city is exactly like a fish out of water. If he doesn't relearn how to breathe, he dies. Until he meets with his contact, or handler, he has to lie as low as possible. A contact can tell him what resources he can depend on, who to avoid, and how to talk like a local or at least how to pretend to be an out-of-town businessman. This is why meeting one's contact is usually one of the first things an operative does after arriving in town.

I think he's already made contact with someone, Fodor continued, Because I didn't see him actually rent a room until a couple of hours after I arrived.

So, we need to give him a reason to see his contact again. See who we're dealing with.

We decided Fodor should go back to the inn and wait for his tail to approach him. He'd no doubt know where Fodor had been and would want to know if he got the book yet. Fodor would tell him I wanted no less than two gold sovereigns for it, a sum big enough for a traveler not to have on his person, but not so big the operative couldn't go to his contact and raise it without too much trouble. That was the plan at least. I was waiting outside the Green Briar, doing my best fruit stand inspection and keeping one eye on the door for anyone who looked like what Fodor had described.

A figure emerged who matched the description. He was a big one, definitely an Urken-Huthan crossbreed. Huthans were generally a good-sized race of people from the hills and valleys to the west. They were slightly taller and broader than most Aelfans, but Urkens were even bigger. They were usually more than six feet and had long, powerful limbs and generally had light-brown skin and red hair. They tended to stand out in a city of bronze-skin Aelfans and pale-skin Huthans. He looked around, but didn't seem to notice me. As he moved away and down the street, I casually strolled after him, picking up the pace whenever he rounded a corner.

My shop was only a block away from the Green Briar in the Docks district. The area was comprised mostly of half-empty warehouses, run-down and overcrowded tenant shacks and a few inns and brothels. Orwen's Tomes and Journals was a bit out-of place these days, but I had a few rich clients from the Huthan tribe who had taken up residence in Aelfa and were anxious to take on the customs and trappings of the old Aelfan Empire.

Occasionally one of them would show up, jealous over the library of a friend he had just visited, browse through my collection, get discouraged by all the foreign names and indecipherable text and then buy some recent edition of a compendium of great works to make himself feel better. Usually, though, my main income was split fairly evenly between selling smut and repairing religious texts.

I tailed tall-and-gruesome into the market district and began to suspect he might be headed for Bell, a moneychanger and fence for just about anyone. If that were true, Fodor and I were in luck. It meant that whoever was behind the kidnapping wasn't particularly well connected. Nobody with any sense would work with Bell if they could afford not to. He was strictly small time and highly susceptible to a shake down.

I stopped in the shadow of an abandoned building—I think it might have been a customs house a few years ago—and leaned against the wall to watch my target move across the open square and approach a cluster of stalls and tents. Sure enough, he went right to Bell. I couldn't hear what they were saying but I didn't need to. I stayed long enough to see both of them disappear into the tent behind Bell's stall and then reemerge. I shoved off and headed back to the shop via a different route. I figured our man would play it straight and go directly back to Fodor, but just in case he had a brain in his head and demanded more money from Bell than I was asking and decided on hiring some extra muscle for insurance, I was going to call in a favor.

I had told Fodor that if his tail came back with the money, I'd be waiting at Anna's around eight o'clock in the evening. It was a believable place to make a safe deal; a small but busy tavern out on the edge of the city, where the Docks meet the old coast road. Public, but not popular. It was basically a large farmhouse that had been built up and converted over the years as the city grew and then fell. It still had a couple of rooms Anna kept up for the occasional traveler and a small stable outside. She and her two boys distilled some surprisingly good whiskey—that curious grain-mash concoction the Durfan tribes had introduced to the empire—and generally found a way to make do. I also knew that two old friends were in town and since it was a quarter past three in the afternoon, they would probably be just waking up.

Deever and Jemsen were Durfan brothers who took to serving as caravan guards, a highly lucrative if exceedingly dangerous occupation those days. The Durfan people were a stocky and swarthy lot, with the brothers being no exception. They stood almost a full head shorter than me, but were broader by half and tougher than math. I met them shortly after the most recent occupation of Aelfa.

I was drowning my sorrows at Anna's and a group of drunk Huthans came in and were all pumped up about their newly found power over the city. They started hurling slurs at me and my race (I don't think they cared that I was a half-breed) and even though I knew I should have let it go and gone home, that night I just couldn't help but be stupid.

My training with the Zyren Extra Super Special Forces (actually, Zyren called it The Special Services and Foreign Operatives Brigade, Who Serve at the Pleasure of His Most August and Imperial Majesty, but I had all kinds of other names for it) didn't include a lot of formal combat, but it did teach me some dirty tricks in case I needed to get out of a bad situation. This didn't exactly qualify, but sometimes I can be a moody bitch and better judgment escapes me.

My clay mug found the laughing maw of the nearest one and left him curled on the ground with a mouth full of blood and broken teeth. My leg kicked out at the next one's groin before he could react and he toppled. There were still three left, though, and they weren't laughing anymore. Three on one isn't the kind of odds I like, but like I said, math is hard—especially considering that Anna's boys were off that night, so there wasn't any help for me beyond her loud protests.

They had me on the table and began to work me over when strong hands pulled two of them off. The third stopped hitting me and drew a long, cruel knife out and approached one of the Durfans who had come to my aid. I couldn't see too well past the swelling around my eyes, but I managed to find a nice juicy kidney with my knuckles. The guy yelped and Deever (I later learned his name as we drank to recover) turned around and quickly grabbed his throat and arm and squeezed the helpless turd into submission.

During the past few years we'd developed something close to a friendship. They were in town every couple of months and we usually met for drinks. Sometimes I'd introduce them to a merchant who needed some protection and sometimes they'd guard the shop when I needed to visit a friend for a few days. I'm sure they suspected I'm something more than a bookbinder, but they didn't ask questions. Exactly the kind of friends I like.

Anna's place stood a little off the road to allow for some space for any visiting horses to graze, not that there ever were any. A couple of tired pigs and a few chickens were all that bothered the grass. I walked in the front door and saw mostly what I expected. Anna was wiping down one of the two long tables and the brothers were slumped over bowls of what I could only imagine was her brunch special. It was the only food she served and could best be described as a kind of chicken soup, heavily spiced. Because I never counted more than a handful of chickens in her yard, I'm not sure it was always the main ingredient, so I avoided it whenever possible.

What d'ya say, what d'ya hear, boys? I greeted them as I slid along the bench next to Deever. He locked a bloodshot and weary gaze on me and managed a slight grin.

Wasn't expecting to see you for a few. Just give us a breather and then we'll be ready to start the night.

Not here for that. Got a proposition for you.

Jemsen moaned over his soup and didn't look up. We're off, Deever commented, and turned back to his own bowl.

Even for a friend?

Both of them looked up. Shop need watching? Jemsen managed.

Nah. Got an old business associate in a bit of trouble.

Bah, Deever sighed, as Jemsen all but fell back into his soup. Me and the drunk over here are off today. No jobs until tomorrow.

Not protection. Just backup.

Jemsen moaned and Deever stirred his bowl silently.

You won't even have to move from here.

Both looked at me and listened as I described what was likely to take place. They were unlikely to leave, so they promised to be in as good a shape as possible come evening. There were still many hours left until the meet, so I paid for another round of soup and some tea for the boys and then briefed Anna on what she could expect. She wasn't thrilled, but with Deever and Jemsen and her sons around she wasn't worried. I hustled on back to my shop and dug out Fodor's key.

The back of the shop was simply a space behind a large standing bookcase filled with aging volumes that separated it from the front room. Behind the bookcase was a small workbench where I did most of the bookbinding and a large wooden chest. One of the floorboards under the chest had a large and peculiar looking knot. I dragged the chest away and took out the key. . . . hidden in the Footwoods and the key fits the knot of a tree there. Indeed.

It was an oddly shaped stone that seemed to match the pattern of the knot. I pressed it down into the floor and felt it sink in and tilt the board up. I removed the board and saw a small space below containing a cloth-covered object. I lifted it out and placed it on the workbench and then unwrapped it.

It was a black leather-bound book in excellent condition with indecipherable runes inscribed on its cover. I carefully opened it and stared in wild disbelief at its title page. The words there were written in old Vizian, a language that hadn't been spoken or read for a thousand years at least. The Vizian Empire had risen and fallen in lands far to the west before Aelfa had even been settled. I could recognize the symbols, but I never was able to learn the alphabet. Even Orwen had never learned it.

Shit, I breathed out. This book was worth more than two sovereigns. That much was for certain. It was also certain that whoever wanted it either knew its rarity or was working for someone who did. Probably the latter, but in either case, I decided it wasn't staying in the shop.

I wrapped it back up in the plain brown cloth and stuffed it in my satchel and threw it around my shoulders. As I was about to leave, I stopped and thought I might need a little protection for peace of mind. I went into the bedroom through the curtained archway behind my desk and pulled a sturdy crate from under the bed. It had a large padlock on it and I withdrew my keys and opened it. Inside I sorted through several items and withdrew the blade I was given by Solin when I had established my cover with Orwen. It was a kind of a reward and gift of trust for having been able to infiltrate successfully, or so I was told. It was a foot-and-a-half of sharp folded steel, much stronger than most of the barbarians' weapons. I had rarely taken it out of the crate for all the years I had been there.

Strapping it around my hip and securing the tip of the sheath around my thigh with a thin leather strap so it wouldn't bounce around as I walked; I buttoned my leather overcoat and was satisfied that it was concealed. It wouldn't help my cover at all if I was spotted moving about the city while armed. In fact, no Aelfan was allowed to carry a weapon without a permit under the new rulers. I practiced withdrawing the blade from my coat a few times until I was satisfied I was as fearsome and dangerous as any badass out there. I straightened my coat with a firm and manly tug and then turned to leave.

The cat, Shmu, meowed at me from her perch on my desk and I stopped and reached down and scratched behind her ears. I moved over to take the remains of my breakfast from off a high bookshelf—some scraps of chicken and cheese—and placed the clay plate down near her on the desk. She purred joyfully as she dug in and I stroked her tortoiseshell fur for a few seconds. I'm terrible at making graceful or dramatic exits. There's always some damn thing I forget.

CHAPTER 1.3

THE SATCHEL SEEMED TO WEIGH MORE than the book should have as I walked with measured strides down various side streets toward the northern edge of the city. I was sure it was because I knew I had something some people might kill to possess. In order to calm myself, I ran down the list of suspects in my head.

The Church of the One God? Certainly it would like to confiscate ancient tomes like this to use or hide as it wished, but I wasn't sure the zealots would be willing to start kidnapping people to do so. They were still a young religion and would surely be more interested in proselytizing than artifact hunting.

The Zyrenese rulers in Melas? Doubtful. They'd like to possess any artifacts they could, I was sure, but they were focused on more immediate military concerns. Or maybe the opportunistic criminal—assuming it wasn't by order of the army—who looted Fodor's place? Also doubtful. He'd have to be one highly educated thug to read through Fodor's notes and then think this was a worthwhile gamble. Who, then?

I arrived at my destination, a deserted and half-ruined ancient temple to the old gods of Aelfa's past located in a run-down and largely deserted portion of the city. It was being restored by the followers of the Church of the One God and I couldn't help but respect that. Most of these invaders were uncouth thugs, but some of them seemed genuinely interested in more than just conquest and pillage. These religious types, for instance, were actively trying to honor Aelfa's own traditions and customs while at the same time spreading their own faith. The restoration had only just begun, but they had enough of the exterior and interior walls of stone and solid wood doors repaired to hold services without fear of collapse. I didn't go to any of them. I haven't met a god yet that I liked, or even disliked. Actually, I haven't even met one.

I had, though, met a man named Timothy who served this church as a scribe and chronicler of the faith. He was also a believer, although I gathered the fire of his devotion had waned somewhat since his youth, but it was his interest in books and lore and ancient cultures that I liked the most about him. He had visited my shop one day to browse my meager offerings and we had ended up spending most of that afternoon talking. After that, we visited each other on occasion and I liked to think maybe we had become friends. I needed friends right now. Deever and Jemsen were good, but they didn't know books. Timothy knew books better than even Orwen had.

I entered through the side door as usual—the one time I had come in the main door, the priests had pounced on me and had tried to convert me on the spot—and walked quickly to a door that led to what I would guess could be called the archives, although the room beyond was smaller than my humble shop and was used more for copying and correspondence than storage and reference. Tim often lamented the lack of funds available to build a collection of books on local myths and religious histories, but he understood the church's limited resources and current priorities. I knocked, hopefully with less urgency than I felt.

The door opened and Tim's piercing blue eyes and hawkish face spread into a smile as he recognized me. His body was leaner and taller than most other Huthans, so he all but towered over me even dressed as he was in a simple brown robe and sandals. He moved away and gestured me inside.

Grant! Good to see you. What brings you out my way?

Hi ya, Tim. How's a boy?

You'd know better than I would. How is a boy?

I often forgot that Tim had an even more lewd sense of humor than me. I liked to think that around all these devout priests he must have to save all his dirty jokes for the times he and I talked. That was the only explanation for how he was usually able to turn every phrase into something lewd or disgusting. I kind of loved him for it, but it could be a little exasperating. Delicious. Best served with rice and a few capers, but that's not why I'm here.

Well that's good; I'm rotten at confession anyway.

I need you to look at something.

I also don't do rashes.

I ignored that and pulled out the book and handed it to him. He took it in his hands and retreated to a stool in front of a small desk that was pushed up against a nearby wall. His thin hands moved over the cover and spine as if he could read its age by touch alone. For all I knew, he probably could. He gently placed it on the desk and opened to the first page. After a few seconds, I could tell his hands were trembling and his lips were moving silently as he read. I'd never seen him do that before.

Where in the name of the One God did you get this, Grant? He couldn't keep his voice from rising in excitement.

It was Orwen's. He had it hidden. I just found it.

Just found it . . . he repeated in a lowered voice. He turned another page and read some more. He looked up at me after a minute and closed the book.

What is it, Tim? I can't read the language, but I recognize it as being ancient Vizian.

Oh, yes, it certainly is. It's old, indeed. Very, very old.

How old?

At least a thousand years, but probably even more. Much more. As you know, the Vizians predated the empire, but even so they were master chroniclers and historians. Few of their texts survive, but the ones that do are almost legendary in their importance. I know of this one only by other texts that make reference to it and they're all from near that time period or shortly after.

You know what it is?

Well, sort of.

What do you mean?

Tim straightened his back as he sat on the stool and placed his hands on his knees. He looked at the book and then at me and let out a breath that it seemed like he'd been holding for a while.

If I'm right, this isn't just a book. It's more of a . . . well, an instruction manual, I guess.

Instructions for what?

Well, to put it bluntly, for talking to the gods.

Ok.

Don't misunderstand me. It's not a religious text, exactly. It's not about myths and legends and parables or some such. One could call it a sort of spell book.

The book is magical?

Not by itself, no. At least, I don't think so. You see, this book is one part of a six-volume set. Some refer to them as the Books of Creation, others as the Books of Unity. This is volume four, if the cover is to be believed. Each book, although mostly coherent, is also largely useless—looking like little more than the didactic ramblings of some ancient, wordy mystic. However, the references I've seen in Aelfan historical and religious texts say that when all six volumes are read, the true meaning of their passages is understood, and then—

Then what?

"The reader either gets to talk to the immortals or gets