When Patience Runs Out
Several days slipped past, and Manir's patience had worn through to nothing. He hadn't turned up a single worthwhile lead on the mana-recovery artifact.
The moment the sun came up, Manir and his soldiers had no choice but to join the training. The drills were punishing enough without the season — and it was winter. Worse, the exercises scattered them across the field, which meant they couldn't so much as put their heads together while the sun was up.
Now and then they asked the conscript soldiers about the mage, but the men only feared him. They knew nothing of use. Rural folk to the bone — most of them had never even heard of an artifact.
And so Manir and his retainers spent their days going through pointless drills, watching their backs the whole while. Nightfall brought no relief either. Whether they wanted information or a closer look, anything useful meant getting near the mage's house. Manir's lodging sat a good distance from it. If a pack of mercenaries started loitering around that neighborhood after training with no clear business, anyone would grow suspicious.
That mage bastard...
Manir was convinced the mage's influence had a heavy hand in driving them into this corner. There was no other reason for things to have gone this strangely.
Has he caught on? And if he has — from where?
Then, unbidden, the mage's eyes came back to him.
His teeth ground together of their own accord.
The mage made no effort to hide a thick disgust whenever he looked at Manir's party. He glared at them as if they were filthy garbage, and every time their paths crossed he spat venom.
I can't tell what he's thinking...
Mages as a breed were so eccentric they defied prediction. They considered themselves special, exalted beings. At times they looked even more arrogant than most nobles — that was a mage for you. And this one was worse than most.
The man didn't hesitate for a second to heap curses on their heads. They were going to ride out on the same expedition, weren't they? It was almost bewildering, the way he kept his edge honed against them.
Has he actually figured us out?
If that were the case, shouldn't they be treading more carefully, not less? His attitude was impossible to pin down. Frankly, that manner of his made Manir want to throw the entire plan out and start over.
Artifact or not, I just want to kill him.
If it weren't for the mission, he would have drawn his sword then and there. Forget slipping in to steal the artifact and running — he wanted to cut the man down and vanish. Even that, though, was no simple thing. A knight of unknown origin was always at the mage's side. Auger.
Damn it...
Auger had a clumsy air about him, and yet you could feel the seasoned instinct of a veteran underneath. And that long scar across his face... That was a badge of honor, surely — the kind you only earned in a brutal duel between knights.
"Lord Manir."
Sierzo, the subordinate he'd sent alone to watch the mage's house, had returned. Manir studied his face, then asked,
"Same as always?"
"Yes, sir."
Sierzo caught the look in Manir's eyes and answered in a thin, tired voice. He had meant to pin down the mage's routine after training — some clear pattern they could use. He couldn't. Come evening, the mage simply vanished from the village itself. That was all they'd managed to learn.
"Where the hell does that lunatic go in the middle of winter?"
"The soldiers say he's always like that."
Manir frowned and snorted.
"Crazy bastard."
Sierzo said nothing.
From what Manir had heard, mages sat still and absorbed mana through meditation. Maybe this mad mage was doing the same.
In this winter, though?
If they called that training, they were lunatics, every last one of them. A knight was different. A knight, through the work of the body, steadily pushed past the limits of the human race. It varied from person to person — or rather, from house and bloodline — but if you tempered yourself long enough, there came a moment when you understood. Something inside you had changed. It was a sensation words couldn't quite hold. Some called it breaking through a wall. Others said a vessel had opened.
Manir himself didn't know what it was, and he had no particular desire to put it into words. The point was this: unlike that mage, a knight's training had the honesty of the body in it, and nothing else.
Mages, on the other hand, are an unpleasant lot down to the last of them.
And a creature like that had the gall to treat him as some lowborn and heap insults on his head. Fresh rage surged up, and before he knew it his fist had slammed the table.
"Hah..."
Manir drew a long breath and put his thoughts in order.
I can't afford to stall any longer.
The plan — sit quiet, watch for a chance, steal the artifact — had been absurd from the start. All they'd been doing was this worthless training. He and his men alike were grinding themselves down, day after day, on drills that meant nothing, and the strain was starting to tell.
"Sierzo. Call the soldiers. All of them."
Manir's voice was firm. Before long the men had gathered inside the shabby lodging. The summons was sudden. They were worn down from training, but a strange excitement lit their faces all the same. Manir looked them over one by one, then spoke.
"We're changing the plan. We're going to search his house."
"The mage's house, sir?"
One of the soldiers asked it in a startled voice. Manir nodded.
"That's right. If we keep stalling, we might actually get dragged all the way to Malešov. I won't waste another day on this pointless farce in this godforsaken village. It's time we moved."
"And if we turn the house inside out and find nothing?"
"Then we grab that mage and... handle it our way. Before first light."
Anyone could see the plan was a stretch — reckless, even. But the soldiers listening looked brighter for it. They hadn't shown it, but the situation had clearly been wearing on them too. Manir watched their faces and let out a short, dry laugh.
"Then... when did you intend to move, my lord? We ought to be careful."
Sierzo spoke up, cautious. He said it gently, but the worry was plain — he didn't want them charging in blind. Questioning a knight's word was a dangerous thing. That he could ask at all was because he was Manir's personal attendant.
"So we still have no idea when the mage comes home?"
"No, sir. They say it's different every time. Apparently he's even come back well into the morning on some days."
"Crazy son of a bitch..."
Manir thought it over for a moment, then settled it.
"We move before dawn. Once you've decided, there's no point dragging it out."
If they couldn't know when the mage returned, it was better to move and take the risk of running into him.
"If he's out, or if he's asleep, we search the house quietly. If we run into him — or if he wakes... everyone rushes him. We put him down in one go."
It was closer to the dishonorable work of an assassin than anything a knight should do, but Manir had no choice. Finishing the job and getting out before that knight of unknown origin could join the fight — that was what mattered.
"Speed is what matters. I'll say it again: taking the artifact and getting out of here comes before whether he lives or dies. If you've already got the artifact, you may kill him without waiting for my order. If we pick up a tail on the way out..."
Then someone would have to stay behind and buy time. Manir didn't say that part out loud. It wouldn't be him, after all.
"Get your gear."
Manir and his soldiers changed into their original equipment. There was no more need to play mercenary in those battered scraps of armor. With Sierzo's help, Manir shrugged into his plate in short order. At his hip he hung a longsword and a shortsword, one of each. The longsword was the weapon he favored. Mercenaries rarely carried anything so large, which was why he'd kept it hidden all this time. The familiar heavy weight settled at his waist, and ironically, his body felt lighter for it.
"Lord Manir."
One of the retainers held out a damp cloth.
"Mm."
It wasn't a particularly clean cloth, but he could tell it had been prepared for him. He took it at once and wiped his face slowly. The rough weave dragged across his skin, and the pale complexion beneath came through.
"If there's cloth left, wipe yourselves down too."
At that, the rest of the soldiers began scrubbing their faces with whatever rags they had.
"Everyone moves quiet. Stay hidden."
"Yes, sir."
Even in full plate, the soldiers answered with confidence. Manir's men were professionally trained. A knight's education included the art of moving without a sound, armor and all — a practical skill, kept ready for the times one had to carry out covert work in a lord's name, even among those who prized honor and chivalry. Manir had passed on every technique he knew to his men. He wanted them to move as if they were his own limbs. And so, heavy as the armor was, they knew how to travel in silence. Manir nodded and spoke.
"We head for the mage's house."
"Yes, sir!"
Manir checked the window. Thick cloud had swallowed the moonlight — good cover for moving through the dark. The soldiers had all changed into their armor. They waited a little longer, put out every light in the house, and finished preparing to leave in silence. Before long, a hush had settled over the whole of Doran Village.
Manir rose from his seat without a word. His soldiers moved with him.
The old hinges let out a warped creak. Outside, the darkness wrapped around them.
One thing he'd noticed since arriving: they kept torches burning along the village's outer wall, but not a single light on the streets inside. The winter wind would snuff them out easily enough, and they were probably saving oil besides. With the moonlight buried behind cloud as well, an ordinary man wouldn't have made ten steps without catching his foot and going down.
Manir's party stood motionless, as if they'd agreed on it beforehand, waiting for their eyes to grow used to the dark.
Before long, the blackness began to thin. Manir swept the surroundings in a quick glance. The village looked as it always did. The only things moving were them.
Manir raised his arm. And they began to move — footsteps as stealthy as a cat's in the dark of night.