Soul of the Fire (Sword of Truth 5)

19

Fitch folded his legs as he sat on the grass. The cool brick felt good against his sweaty back. He took a deep breath of the sweet-smelling night, the aromas of roasting meat wafting out through open windows, and the clean smell of the apple-wood pile. Since they would be working late cleaning up the mess after the feast, they’d been given a welcome respite.

Morley handed him the bottle. It would be late before they could get good and drunk, but at least they could have a sample. Fitch took a big swig. Instantly, he coughed violently, before he could get it down, losing most of the mouthful of liquor.

Morley laughed. “Told you it was strong.”

Fitch wiped the back of his sleeve across his dripping chin. “You’re right about that. Where’d you get it? This is good stuff.”

Fitch had never had anything so strong that it burned that much going down. From what he’d heard, if it burned, that meant it was good stuff. He’d been told that if he ever had a chance, he’d be a fool to turn down good stuff. He coughed again. The back of his nose, back in his throat, burned something awful.

Morley leaned closer. “Someone important ordered it sent back. Said it was swill. They were trying to be pompous in front of everyone. Pete, the cupbearer, he ran it back and set it down. When he grabbed another and ran out, I snatched it up and slipped it under my tunic before anyone noticed.”

Fitch was used to drinking the wine they’d managed to scavenge. He’d drain almost empty small casks and bottles, collecting the dregs and what was left behind. He’d never gotten his hands on any of the scarce liquor before.

Morley pushed at the bottom of the bottle, tipping it to Fitch’s lips. Fitch took a more cautious pull, and got it down without spitting it back out. His stomach felt like a boiling cauldron. Morley nodded approvingly. Fitch smiled with smug pride.

Through distant open windows, he could hear people talking and laughing in the gathering hall, waiting for the feast to begin. Fitch could already feel the effects of the liquor. Later, after they cleaned up, they could finish getting drunk.

Fitch rubbed the gooseflesh on his arms. The music drifting out from the windows put him in a mood. Music always did that, made him feel like he could rise up and do something. He didn’t know what, but something. Something powerful.

When Morley held out his hand Fitch handed over the bottle. He watched the knob in Morley’s throat move up and down with every swallow. The music built with emotion, quickened with excitement. On top of the effects of the drink, it gave him chills.

Off past Morley, Fitch saw someone tall coming down the path toward them. The person was walking deliberately, not just out for a stroll, but going someplace. In the yellow lamplight coming from all the windows, Fitch saw the glint off the silver scabbard. He saw the noble features and bearing.

It was Dalton Campbell. He was coming right for them.

Fitch elbowed his friend and then stood. He steadied himself on his feet before straightening his tunic. The front of it was wet with liquor he’d coughed out. He quickly swiped back his hair. With the side of his foot, he kicked Morley and signaled with a thumb for him to get up.

Dalton Campbell walked around the woodpile, headed straight toward them. The tall Ander seemed to know right where he was going. Fitch and Morley, when it was just the two of them lifting drink and sneaking off, never told anyone where they went.

“Fitch. Morley,” Dalton Campbell called out as he approached.

“Good evening, Master Campbell,” Fitch said, raising a hand in greeting.

Fitch guessed, what with the light from the windows, it wasn’t really that hard to see. He could see Morley good enough, see him holding the bottle behind his back. It must be that the Minister’s aide saw them from a window as they were going out to the woodpile.

“Good evening, Master Campbell,” Morley said.

Dalton Campbell looked them over, like he was inspecting soldiers. He held out his hand.

“May I?”

Morley winced as he pulled the bottle from behind his back and handed it over. “We was… that is…”

Dalton Campbell took a good swig.

“Ahh,” he said, as he handed the bottle back to Morley. “You two are fortunate to have such a good, and full, bottle of liquor.” He clasped his hand behind his back. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

Both Fitch and Morley, stunned at Dalton Campbell taking a swig of their bottle, and more so that he handed it back, both shook their heads vigorously.

“No, sir, Master Campbell,” Morley said.

“Good, then,” Campbell said. “I was looking for the two of you. I have a bit of trouble.”

Fitch leaned a little closer, lowering his voice. “Trouble, Master Campbell? Is there anything we can do to help?”

Campbell watched Fitch’s eyes, and then Morley’s. “Well, yes, as a matter of fact, that’s why I was looking for you. You see, I thought you two might like a chance to prove yourselves—to begin showing me you have the potential I hope you have. I could take care of it myself, but I thought you two might like to have a chance to do something worthwhile.”

Fitch felt like the good spirits themselves had just asked if he’d like a chance to do good.

Morley set the bottle down and straightened his shoulders like a soldier going to attention. “Yes sir, Master Campbell, I surely would like a chance.”

Fitch straightened himself up. “Me, too, Master Campbell. You just name it, and we’d both like a chance to prove to you we’re men ready to take responsibility.”

“Good… very good,” he said as he studied them. He let the silence go on a bit before he spoke again. “This is important. This is very important. I thought about taking it to someone else, someone more experienced, but I decided to give you two a chance to show me you can be trusted.”

“Anything, Master Campbell,” Fitch said, and he meant it. “You just name it.”

Fitch trembled with the excitement of having the chance to prove himself to Dalton Campbell. The music seemed to pump him full of need to do something important.

“The Sovereign is not well,” Campbell said.

“That’s terrible,” Morley said.

“We’re sorry,” Fitch added.

“Yes, it’s a shame, but he is old. Minister Chanboor is still young and vigorous. He’s undoubtedly going to be named Sovereign, and it isn’t likely to be long. Most of the Directors are here to discuss business with us—Seat of the Sovereign business. Making inquiries, as it were, while they have the leisure to do so. They want to determine certain facts about the Minister. They are looking into his character to see what kind of man he is. To see if he’s a man they could support, when the times comes.”

Fitch snatched a quick glance and saw Morley’s wide eyes fixed on Dalton Campbell. Fitch could hardly believe he was hearing such important news from a man as important as this—they were just Hakens, after all. This was the Minister’s aide, an Ander, an important Ander, telling them about matters of the highest substance.

“Thank the Creator,” Fitch whispered. “Our Minister is finally getting the recognition he deserves.”

“Yes,” Campbell drawled in an odd way. “Well, the thing is, there are people who would like to prevent the Minister from being named Sovereign. These people mean to harm the Minister.”

“Harm him?” Morley asked, clearly astonished.

“That’s right. You both recall learning how the Sovereign is to be protected, that anything done to protect our Sovereign is a virtue?”

“Yes, sir,” Morley said.

“Yes, sir,” Fitch echoed. “And since the Minister is to be Sovereign, then he should be protected just the same.”

“Very good, Fitch.”

Fitch beamed with pride. He wished the drink didn’t make it so hard to focus his eyes.

“Master Campbell,” Morley said, “we’d like to help. We’d like to prove ourselves to you. We’re ready.”

“Yes sir, we s

urely are,” Fitch added.

“I shall give you both your chance, then. If you can do right, and keep silent about it no matter what—and that means to your graves—I will be pleased my faith in you was well placed.”

“To our graves,” Fitch said. “Yes sir, we can do that.”

Fitch heard an odd metallic sound. He realized with horror that there was a sword point under his chin.

“But if either of you fails to live up to my faith, I would be very disappointed, because the Minister would then be in danger. Do you understand? I won’t have people I trust let me down. Let the future Sovereign down. Do you both understand?”

“Yes, sir!” Fitch nearly shouted.

The sword point flashed to Morley’s throat, poised before the prominent bump in his gullet. “Yes, sir!” he said.

“Did either of you tell anyone where you would be tonight having your drink?”