Matthew - Shadow Tag, part 1
Seven. The guard with the nasal voice had done seven shifts outside his cell now. Not being allowed out at all, and having passed out from pain more times then he'd care to count early on had completely screwed up Matthew's sense of time, but he was determined not to go mad from it. One guard had an easily recognizable voice, even through the thick cell door. It wouldn't make sense for him to take multiple shifts in one day with long breaks in between, so Matthew could guess that he had been in here seven days.
At least seven days, he mentally amended. It wasn't out of the question for even more time to have elapsed...if Matthew missed a shift or two due to being asleep, say. But he wasn't going to dwell on that. It'd all get cleared up as soon as Grant arrived at least.
If he even...he shook it off and didn't let the thought finish. That was just desperation talking. Crispin had stopped trying to get information out of him, and that guy didn't strike Matthew as the type to give up. And so long as Grant got that message, Matthew knew he would come. The big tactician was too curious, he'd want to know who called on him by name. Last, but certainly not least, Crispin had called him "master" Grant, which meant that Grant ranked him, which meant the odds of that message actually getting sent went up. The facts were on his side, the despair was just the pain, hunger and isolation talking.
Hunger. Matthew's stomach growled at the thought of the word. They hadn't exactly been feeding him well in here either. He'd guess one meal a day, they tended to come when the nasal voiced guard did. Barely half sized portions as well...but it wasn't the first time he went a long time on little food. They were probably trying to keep his energy down, keep him from trying anything.
He almost laughed at the thought. Crispin was the real deal, but the guards out there...didn't seem like anything special. If he weren't waiting for Grant, Matthew would have already been out of here.
During the hours he managed to stay awake, he'd certainly come up with a plan for it. The guard who fed him left the door open four seconds longer then strictly necessary. Such a short time, but more then enough for Matthew to spring from his mat to the door. Grab arm, elbow to throat, one guard stunned long enough for Matthew to grab his weapon. The tricky part would be using it well enough with his fingers still busted up...some of them broken. If he was lucky the guard would have a knife, easier to do knife work with a hurt hand then full blade work. Finish off the stunned guard, use the corpse to keep the door jammed open. Use the door as cover, let one of them run off to raise the alarm, once he was armed he could finish the others, or at least injure them enough where he could slip past. Then he would face the decision of whether he should just run...or try to kill Crispin first, if he was still around.
No, Matthew could escape from here, even injured and underfed. It would be risky, but not outside his abilities.
But he wouldn't. Because he really needed to have some words with Grant. It'd be the best source of intelligence lord Oswin could ask for on the war, for starters. And on a more personal note, he really wanted to know why the big man suddenly decided to condone torture from his underlings. That wasn't like the Grant he knew at all.
So he waited. Sleeping when he could, eating the meals slowly to not waste their nourishment, figuring out which fingers were broken and which merely hurt. He wanted to get himself into the best condition he could and figure out exactly what he was capable of right now...since planning on it or no, he never knew when he might need to act.
And now for the tricky part. Grant eyed the ground wearily from the back of the wyvern. Getting on the things was never a problem, nor did he have any issues with flying. But he never had learned the trick of dismounting without winding up flat on the ground.
As if sensing the problem...or perhaps having heard the rumors, the wyvern's rider effortlessly slid off her beast's back first and offered a hand up to the tactician, "Allow me, sir."
He couldn't help but chuckle and offer an appreciative nod in return, "Thank you, Carrie." And with a steadying hand for help, it was suddenly much easier to reach the ground in a dignified, and more importantly, less painful manner.
Once on the ground, he took a look around at what was waiting for him. Sadly his initial scan from the air was correct, Crispin wasn't out here to greet him. But one of his soldiers, a captain from the rank insignia, was making his own way toward Grant's position, so that would have to do. Taking the initiative, Grant walked over to meet the man en route and nodded in greeting, "Captain. I take it Crispin has other business at the moment? I assumed he would be here personally if he were in at all."
The captain relaxed a bit and confirmed, "Yes sir. Master Crispin was hoping he would get back before your arrival, but the General required his presence."
"And he can't exactly stall without letting out a cat we really need to stay bagged," Grant finished. "Quite alright, I should be able to stay long enough to catch him before I have to go. Why don't you go ahead and lead me to the prisoner while you have some of your men see to Azereal's stabling?"
"Uh..." the captain balked a bit, "begging your pardon sir, but master Crispin left orders not to take you to the prisoner until his return."
Behind him, Grant heard an indignant snort from the wyvern rider, "He dares give Grant orders? Perhaps he forgets his place."
Before the soldiers could get riled up, Grant raised his voice just a touch, "Peace, Carrie. It's his operation, so that's not beyond the scope of his duties. However," he offered the captain a amiable smile, "I am going to pull rank and waive those orders. From his description, I'm quite certain I know the man and things will go much more smoothly if I can clear things up with him privately."
"But, sir," the captain protested, clearly uncomfortable with the request, "we have reason to believe this man is an assassin as well as a spy. I must insist you wait until master Crispin returns and we can arrange proper interrogation security."
Grant sighed. This was definitely one of Crispin's handpicked men alright. Which meant that reason wasn't going to work and it was time to be far more direct, "He is an assassin, but I assure you that he will not harm me. More to the point, if he wanted to harm me, Crispin's presence and proper security wouldn't make a whit of difference and I would be dead very shortly, along with anyone who attempted to stop him." The captain looked completely poleaxed by the casual way the tactician spoke of the man, then opened his mouth to protest again but Grant kept talking right over him to cut it off, "Even more to the point however, is the fact that this is not a request but an order, Captain. Take me to the prisoner."
There was a long moment of silence before the captain nodded, sharply and clearly not liking the fact, "Right this way, sir."
Voices.
Matthew pried himself up to a standing position as he heard voices on the other side of the door that went beyond the chatter of the guards. Someone was coming, multiple someones from the sound of it. Keeping perfectly still, the spy focused on listening to what was going on, trying to make out the words as best he could without needing to approach the door.
"Sir...beg...reconsider." It wasn't a voice he recognized, but the emphasis on certain words told Matthew the voice was speaking to a superior that was almost certainly more then a few steps over his rank.
"Shut your trap, groundpounder! You have your orders!" The volume of the female voice that replied made the whole line audible even through the door. Groundpounder? That's... Matthew almost smiled, that's wyvern cav slang for footsoldiers. It's not Vaida's voice, but probably one of her people. If that's the officer, I might be in luck.
But someone else must have said something, as the wyvern rider's voice was heard again, "Apologies, sir." Sir? So she's not in charge then. But who the devil is a wyvern rider calling sir? Unless...
He almost didn't dare to hope, but it was the only thing that made sense. As he heard the voices get closer and the jingle of the key ring that always heralded the opening of the door, Matthew tensed up. If this was who he thought it was, everything was fine. If not...then this was likely going to be very, VERY bad for him, and he would need to be ready to do something stupid and desperate.
The door opened.
Taking a quick moment to make sure the man in the cell was who he thought he was, Grant pushed the reluctant guard aside and stepped forward, "I thought so. Matthew, it's been..."
Words suddenly failed the strategist as he truly SAW the young spy, beyond merely confirming his identity. Bruised, unwashed, eyes half glazed, thinner then even he should have been. None too horrendous in and of themselves, really what someone in the condition of a prisoner should expect...except for his hands. Matthew's hands were practically mangled. Each finger was swollen, some clearly broken. The damage wasn't uniform, but looked very deliberate...and to top it all off, the palms seemed fine.
Grant had seen this before.
Closing his eyes, the large man tried very hard not to let the rising anger control him. He was a strategist. He didn't lose his temper, when he lost his temper men lost their lives. Good men. His men. When someone is responsible for the lives of so many others, that someone does not have the luxury of anger. He kept telling himself that until he was fully under control.
It took a lot longer then he would have liked.
Matthew hadn't yet spoken, likely waiting for Grant to play his hand first. That suited him just fine.
Turning to the captain, Grant locked eyes with the man and spoke very slowly and deliberately, hoping the man would have more sense then to argue this time, "Get a healer. Now." Not above turning his size to his advantage, the tactician loomed a bit as he gave the order.
The tactic had the desired effect, as the captain, despite being armed and armored, took an involuntary step backwards as he stammered out, "A-apologies sir, but master Crispin is the only one who can use magic staves here. We don't have another healer."
"Of course you don't, I don't know why I thought you would." Grant grumbled, the sarcasm slipping out before he could stop it. Not really in the mood to check his temper, he simply let the comment stand and called for the one person here who's competency and loyalty he trusted at the moment, "Carrie, go get the bottle of elixir from your saddlebag. Make sure it's the elixir, a vulnerary isn't going to cut it here."
With the efficiency he expected of her, Carrie nodded sharply and took off back down the hall.
"Now then," Grant gave the Captain his best I'm-not-done-with-you-yet look before turning back to Matthew, "I..."
"...really don't know what to say about all of this. Can you walk without issue? We can meet Carrie on her way back in if so. At least get you out of this wretched cell."
Matthew couldn't really put a finger on the first few emotions that ran through his head upon seeing the big strategist again. But just as readily as he always had during the war, Grant took the situation here in hand and started to fix it instantly, for which the spy could only be grateful. Nodding in response to the question, Matthew spoke aloud for the first time in awhile, not surprised to hear his voice cracking, "Y-yeah. Gah." He cleared his throat, or at least tried to, "I can walk."
"Sir!" The officer behind Grant spoke up again with an urgent tone. Before the man even finished his thought, Matthew saw Grant's eyes narrow dangerously. He'd seen that expression before, and it never ended well for whoever brought it on.
"You object, I assume?"
Undaunted by the venom in Grant's voice, the captain continued, "Sir, you said nothing about releasing this man. You've said yourself that he's an assassin, I cannot allow you to remove him from this cell. The operation here is far too sensitive to allow a dangerous unknown operative to wander freely."
Grant's reply was quiet and level, "He, and his employer, are known to me. That will suffice. Consider yourself dismissed, Captain. I no longer require your assistance or objections at this time."
The captain once again begin to speak in objection, but Grant cut him off sharply, "In fact, why don't you make yourself useful and run off to your master's heels to let him know all the horrible things I'm doing at his base. The sooner he returns, the sooner he and I can share words on the matter of a certain device I ordered destroyed months ago, the ethical treatment of prisoners as instructed by the Prince himself, and his hiring practices."
Matthew couldn't help it at that point. He started laughing, which surely didn't help Grant's position any but for reasons that probably only make sense when you're half starved and not entirely sane, he just found the whole situation too funny. Even while cracking up laughing, he could see Grant just slowly shake his head and turn back to the soldiers, who were all staring at him like he was a maniac.
"Well then," Grant asked the remaining guards as the dismissed captain made his exit, "is a new chief protestor going to make themselves apparent, or can I expect cooperation from the rest of you?"
None of them made disagreeable noises, though as he got himself back under control Matthew noted they didn't seem to happy about this turn of events. He was starting to get a very bad feeling about all this, and not just for his own sake.
As the guards cleared the way, allowing Grant and Matthew to leave the cell, Matthew faked a bit of a limp and walked up beside the Etrurian, leaning on his shoulder ostensibly for support, but really to get himself close enough to whisper, "Something's wrong about this lot, Grant. I don't think your position is going to protect you here much longer."
Adjusting his glasses with his free hand, Grant murmured in return, low enough that even Matthew had trouble hearing, "I only need it to long enough to get you that elixir and a blade."
Matthew didn't respond. He had nothing else to say until they had a chance to talk privately. He did, however, make sure to confirm that Grant's belt knife was right where the man usually wore it.
Just in case.
They didn't get very far before being met by the wyvern rider rushing back through the base towards them with a very distinct bottle of blue liquid clutched in her hands. Right at that moment, that bottle and the woman carrying it were the most beautiful things Matthew had ever seen. He heard a deep sigh of relief...and was a bit surprised to realize it had come from him.
The wyvern rider quirked half a smile as she handed the bottle to Grant, "Here, sir."
Taking the bottle, Grant removed the stopper as Matthew stopped leaning on his shoulder, "Hold your hands out."
Doing as he was told, Matthew reveled in the feeling of the cool liquid being dripped onto his hands. Like the magic that it was, he felt it seeping right through his skin and mending the injuries as he rubbed it all over his fingers. The pain retreated, replaced by the indescribable feeling of his broken fingerbones knitting themselves back together. The spy gave an involuntary shiver at the sensation, welcome as it was. That NEVER stops being weird. At least it wasn't my ribs this time.
"Alright, that looks like it's working." Grant lifted the bottle up, "Open. You need to drink a few drops as well."
That made him wince, but Matthew again did as instructed. He hated drinking healing elixir. It wasn't that it tasted horrid, in fact he couldn't tell you how it tasted at all. Because as soon as the drops hit his tongue, his entire mouth went numb. He knew better then to let it linger in his mouth, and swallowed the drops as soon as Grant was done, letting the odd numbness spread through his torso.
The rider's half smile broadened as she quipped, "Quick, name and rank, solider!"
Matthew responded with a glare, while Grant tried not to snicker.
As Matthew was waiting for the numbness to go away, Grant waved over one of the soldiers who had been following at a respectful distance, "I require a place where I can speak with this man privately. What can your facility offer in that regard?"
Grant took a look around the room the soldier led them to, then looked back to the solider and stated with a flat tone, "I'm going to need you to find a different room."
"It's fine, Grant." Matthew waved it off, "I'm harder to crack then that, just being in here won't bother me."
Perhaps not you. Me on the other hand. Grant adjusted his glasses as he considered how best to phrase his very strong desire to be elsewhere in a manner that neither suggested weakness in front of Crispin's soldier, nor belittled Matthew's stated ability to cope with it.
"Oh, it will be just peachy," Carrie noted with a sarcastic drawl, "If you don't mind me wanting to stab this putrid excuse for an officer more the longer I'm in here."
"Yeah, it'll be fine." Matthew supplied in a casual deadpan that almost made Grant laugh despite his own feelings on the matter.
Carrie did laugh, which was all the reason Grant needed not to add his own voice to that. Turning to the soldier, who was looking quite intimidated by the rider and assassin duo, the strategist offered a shrug, "Well, I suppose if you had anything else you would have offered me that first, wouldn't you? You may leave us."
The man nodded and wasted no time vanishing, leaving the three of them alone in Crispin's...doubtlessly he would call it his "interrogation" room. "Well," Grant turned his back on the device attached to one wall, not willing to spend the conversation staring at it, "why don't I satisfy the questions you surely have first, then you can explain how this entire mess happened in the first place."
Matthew was made of sterner stuff then most, which is why he was able to keep his reaction inside when he was led into the torture chamber for what would ironically be a perfectly civil conversation. It's fine, he repeated to himself, just enjoy the little bit of spite in the room getting to hear what I have to say without that bastard in it.
Nodding to Grant, the spy grabbed one of the chairs in the room and had a seat, "Sure. Here's the first obvious one, what the hell are you doing working with a guy like Crispin? Is that the Prince's style, since I know it's not yours?"
As soon as the words left his mouth, Matthew knew he'd said the wrong thing, as Carrie's earlier decent humor vanished in a flash, her hand going to the lance across her back, "You dare!"
"Peace, Carrie!" Grant called her down with a long suffering sigh, "Matthew you really should know better then to even hint at disrespecting the Prince in front of a wyvern rider."
He nodded, "Yeah, I'm not exactly a hundred percent right now. Sorry. But really, what's with this guy?"
"Suffice to say he is part of the original batch that convinced Prince Zephiel that the country would be better off were he to seize power from King Desmond immediately. He also served at the movement's primary strategist before Vaida returned with me in tow."
"So you can't just get rid of him since he was in this from the get-go." Matthew finished the train of logic.
Grant nodded, "Exactly. His...preferred methods are not in line with the goals of Prince Zephiel, Dame Vaida, or myself, but when he can be made to abandon them he is amazingly effective. I've been trying to teach him how to get better results with less inhumane methods, but he's sadly convinced that my successes are the result of me being some manner of superhuman intellect and thus cannot be taken as indicative of the effectiveness of the methods themselves."
"...that may set the new standard in backhanded compliments." Matthew slumped over in the chair and shook his head, "and I'm guessing forbidding him from torturing people doesn't stick?"
"No. I ordered him to destroy that device before, but it seems he ignored me. Efficiency is the greatest virtue for Crispin, and he truly believes deception, torture and other such underhanded methods produce the best results in the shortest amount of time. I..." Grant sighed and adjusted his glasses yet again, "...am going to need to recommend to his highness that Crispin be kept on a much shorter leash. Which is unfortunate, since he's fully capable of operating successfully within acceptable means on his own. He just...won't."
It wasn't quite the explanation he was expecting, but Matthew supposed it would have to do. It's...not really my problem anyway. Not anymore at least.
"So," Grant changed the subject slightly, "how did he manage to capture you? And what brings you to Bern in the first place?"
"That..." Matthew shook his head and countered, "first, I've got another question and you said something about getting me armed? Even with you two here, this still feels like in the middle of enemy territory to me right now."
"Ah, of course. Carrie?" Grant turned back to the wyvern rider who was standing near the door, "Could I convince you to part with your sword?"
She hesitated a long moment, which Matthew supposed he couldn't find surprising, before speaking up, "I...trust you, sir. But before I surrender a weapon to this man, I'd like to know who he really is and who he works for."
"Yeah, that's fair." Matthew replied, saving Grant the trouble, "Matthew is my real name. I'm a spy for Lord Hector, Marquis Ostia and titular head of the Lycian League. Nothing Grant doesn't already know, so no harm in being upfront about it for once."
"He was involved in that whole mess against Nergal and the Black Fang, along with Heath, Vaida, Legault and a few others." Grant added for her benefit.
Carrie nodded and unbuckled her sword belt, handing it to Matthew, "I'll accept that. Here."
"Thanks." Standing up, he belted it around his waist and immediately felt a lot more secure in his situation. "And my other question...when I was caught, I had been working with a man named Wester. An ex-fang archer, he thinks I was working for the Prince. I don't know what happened to him."
"I'm afraid the message said nothing about him." Grant's answer was about what Matthew had expected, but that didn't stop him from wishing it were otherwise. "I will of course inquire after him when I speak with Crispin. It...may be best for you to be gone before he returns, though. If he is still...well, alive, and amenable to the situation I may see about extending your guise and recruiting him. He wouldn't be the only former member of the Black Fang in our ranks, to be frank."
"Yeah, that sounds like the best idea." Matthew tried not to dwell on the idea that the archer might be dead. It was impossible not to think about it at all though. No more partners. From here on, I do it all alone.
Putting it out of his mind as best he could, Matthew returned to Grant's question for him and explained how he'd gotten caught.
The Etrurian nodded through most of it, asking for clarification at points, but overall seemed satisfied by the story. Which was good, since Matthew wasn't lying to him about any of it.
"Which leaves what errand brings you here at all. But allow me to hazard a guess...Nergal?"
"Partially." Matthew confirmed, "That was previously my first priority. Lord Oswin sent orders telling me to focus on keeping tabs on the war instead recently. That was right before I got caught."
Grant winced, "That does not strike me as the best priority there. We have...well, I won't say we have the situation under control here, but I'm confident we will come out of this victorious. And either way things fall out here, Bern will be in no shape to meddle in Lycia's affairs for some time. Nergal is by far the more relevant threat."
"That was about my line of thinking, yeah." Matthew nodded, but also felt obliged to point out, "But we couldn't really know how things were here. I haven't heard anything about you sending updates back to Lord Hector, so they need to rely on me to gather intelligence."
"I..." Grant sighed heavily and rubbed his temples in exhaustion, "simply did not..."
"Want them to keep relying on you." Matthew finished. "I get it. But you can't say that, then assume they'll just trust that you've got things here and not want one of their people checking it out."
"No, I suppose I cannot, you're quite right. Still," the strategist frowned, "I'm extremely concerned by whoever is making morphs, and don't quite have the resources to investigate it properly myself. The resources in question being people either subtle enough to look deeply into this matter and not get caught, or strong enough to extricate themselves from any confrontations with powerful morphs, or worse yet the one making them, that may occur."
Grant was rather pointedly not looking directly at Matthew as he spoke, which told the spy he was beginning to plot something. And it probably involved him. Deciding to play along, he took a stab at giving Grant the opening he likely wanted, "What about Legault? He is still with you, right?"
"He is, yes." Grant nodded, "We also cannot afford to reassign him from his current task of lurking about the Prince's person as a counter-assassin measure. He is also overly fond of engaging in the occasional wacky shenanigans, which could prove quite disastrous in an endeavor of this magnitude."
He really has to be stressed here if he's using phrases like wacky shenanigans with a straight face. He tried not to laugh, but while Grant was usually a difficult man to read, he had a few tells that Matthew had long since figured out. Such as extending his vocabulary into multiple polysyllabics to get across simple points when under exceptional stress. Nodding along, with it all regardless, Matthew cut to the chase, "You're about to propose something."
"Ah, yes. You know me well it seems." Grant chuckled, then got down to business himself, "To be quite honest you are perhaps the perfect man for the job. I would be willing to engage in an exchange of duties and information, I begin sending missives to Lord Hector directly about the war which leaves you free to focus on the source of the morphs. About which I have managed to gather at least some intelligence thus far. And you would report your findings both to Ostia and myself, or perhaps Vaida as she's reliably easier to locate."
It sounded like a fairly good deal, Matthew had to admit. He considered it for a bit, looking for the catch, for anything that made it a bad idea. But as much as he tried, he could only think of one, "Lord Oswin isn't going to like it, I can promise that."
"You've talked your way out of worse breaches of conduct with him before, I'm sure."
"Yeah, true enough. So tell me what you know."
"Very well then." Grant finally went to get a chair for himself and ad a seat, though he still kept his back to the device on the wall, "I sadly don't have conclusive evidence of the identity of the morph creator, but I do have reason to believe it is actually NOT Nergal. Aside from the fact that I saw Hector smash his entire body apart like an overripe melon with Armads."
Matthew snickered at the somewhat gruesome memory, "Lets hear it then."
"This first came to my attention, along with confirming my initial suspicion that the new morphs were coming from right her in Bern, when Heath noticed a few individuals in the King's army with black hair, fair skin, golden eyes...and very thin blood."
"So they're on the King's side? Hmm." Matthew began to think. The Black Fang under Nergal had been manipulating politics in Bern for awhile, so taking a side in the conflict now wasn't unexpected.
"Not entirely, actually."
Matthew looked up, curious about the phrasing, "What do you mean?"
"We later found morphs enlisting in our army as well. And I don't believe as spies. I had the opportunity to question one, and he did not even seem aware of the fact that he was a morph."
"Um, excuse me sir," Carrie spoke up, interjecting into the conversation a bit hesitantly, "This is the first I've heard of any of this. Is this being kept a secret?"
"From the majority of the people, yes," Grant nodded, "Consider yourself in the know now, and keep it to yourself please."
"Yes sir!" She nodded, and Matthew couldn't help but be amused at the expression on her face, so eager to be part of an elite few.
"Others still," Grant resumed his explanation, "Have been seen as part of mercenary forces or bands of thieves. Not many, only one here and another there, but they have been seen. But what really sets this apart from Nergal's work, is that all the ones sighted thus far seem to have no trouble interacting with normal humans. They think. They're intelligent. Not simply mindless puppets."
Matthew had nothing to say to that. What could he say? He was still trying to process it. Morphs. More of them. Intelligent ones. All...doing what?
Seeming to have the same train of thought, Grant made the same observation aloud, "I was earlier operating under the assumption that the more intelligent morphs like Sonia and Limstella were somehow more difficult or expensive to make. But seeing more of them now, and not even working for a unified purpose, makes me question that. There are two things of greatest import that need to be learned. Where are these new morphs coming from. And why? What is their purpose? The identity of the creator honestly doesn't matter nearly so much as the intentions."
"And that's where I come in." Matthew nodded, "Alright. Deal. You send reports on the war, including what I'm going for now, back to Ostia. And I'll track the morphs back to where they come from."
"I was hoping you would say that." Grant smiled, clearly a bit relieved, "I'll admit this idea had been kicking around in my mind even during the flight out here. However, I do have one more concern."
"Which is?"
"This is dangerous, Matthew. Even with your skills, I'm not sure you should be attempting this alone."
No. Matthew took a deep breath, preparing himself to argue with the tactician on that point. No more partners. I can't look after anyone else. I can't afford to care about anyone else.
"Master Grant," Carrie stepped towards the two men, "I'll volunteer! It might be dangerous, but Azereal and I are up to the task, I promise."
Oh HELL no. Fortunately Matthew could instantly think of a dozen good reasons why that wasn't going to work, "No offense, but I'll have to refuse. This operation is going to require a lot of stealth, and stealthy is about the last thing wyverns are."
"But..."
"No, he's right Carrie." Grant spoke up, "I don't doubt your skills, but this is simply not a task you're suited to."
"It's not a task anyone is really suited to," Matthew pointed out, and hoped his logic would actually hold up against the strategist's scrutiny, "nobody you have is going to be able to help with this without either slowing me down, risking my cover, or being a liability in a fight. Well, almost nobody, but you already said you can't spare Legault."
"I suppose you're right about that as well." Grant sighed.
Matthew felt a sense of relief. He bought it. Well, it is good logic, not just an excuse.
But just as quickly, that relief turned into something else entirely at Grant's next words, "But as providence would have it, there is someone in Bern who has proven more then capable of keeping up with you, and you certainly don't have to worry about when violence occurs. As for your cover...well, I'm sure he can at the least be convinced to keep his mouth shut at the right times." The tactician smiled a bit as he revealed his suggestion, "You see, it seems that Guy has joined a group of mercenaries that are currently in the Prince's employ."
St. Ellimine in heaven please tell me what sin I have committed to deserve this? Of course Matthew was a little more self aware then he would like to be sometimes, and immediately had to amend, okay, which of my sins. Dammit.
"As you don't seem entirely pleased by that, I have to ask..." Grant leaned forward, resting his chin on his folded hands and giving the spy a very appraising look, "what exactly happened back in Badon, Matthew?"
The words stung. It was something Matthew didn't want to think about. He'd been trying to forget all about it. But it seemed that Grant hadn't forgotten it, even if Matthew hadn't even been aware the man knew something happened until now. Of course he knew... and of course he hadn't forgotten. It's Grant. Thinking is what he gets paid for.
"Honestly Grant," Matthew found his voice, and kept it level, not letting the frustration show, "It's not any of your business. Guy's not going to work either, and let's leave it at that. He and I are no longer any of the others' concern."
"...I see." Grant sighed and leaned back in his chair, "I hope for your sake that really is true, Matthew."
...why? He almost asked out of reflex, but forced himself not to. He knows something I don't. But...it's not my business. I don't care anymore.
Grant let the silence play out a few moments until Carrie broke it, "Um, Master Grant? Why? What's happening with him?"
Right at that moment Matthew didn't think he hated anyone so much as that nosy wyvern rider. "How the hell is it any of your concern anyway?"
Carrie turned a withering glare on the spy, "Hey, it's being talked about right in front of me and now I'm curious! I wasn't asking you anyway toothpick, so shut your mouth while I'm talking to master Grant."
"Enough, children." Grant gave them both a fairly displeased look. Carrie looked down, a bit embarrassed by the rebuke, while it only served to piss Matthew off more.
"Don't patronize me, Grant. You're not that much older then me."
Grant ignored the comment and did exactly what Matthew didn't want him to do, "To answer Carrie's question, since I suppose she does have a right to ask being present for the conversation, just before I left I heard a report of a man matching Karel's description being seen in one of the towns sworn to the Prince. He was asking questions about where to locate a Sacaen swordmaster. You can imagine what came to mind."
Karel. The name hit Matthew like a hammer to the gut. The sword demon himself. He had seen what Karel did on the battlefield, and it wasn't pretty. Or perhaps it was, but only in very morbid ways. The man was an artist of death. He had always seen Guy as beneath his notice during the war, but...but Guy's been getting better.
"Who's Karel?" Carrie asked, speaking the name softly as if almost afraid to ask.
"You may have heard of him referred to as the Sword Demon." Grant explained. "He...was technically an ally during the war with Nergal and the Black Fang. But I hesitate to call him even that at times. He was killing the same people we were killing at least."
"He looks for the best fighters. The strongest people." Matthew found himself adding, voice low and drained of feeling, "and he kills them."
"And...he's going after one of our people?" Carrie stared at the strategist, "what are we going to do about that then?"
Matthew wanted to know the same thing, but he didn't dare let himself ask it.
"There's not anything we can do, Carrie." Grant could offer only a shrug in return, "I can think of only two men who could stop Karel, and neither is guaranteed. And neither is under my command, so the point is moot. It's...remotely possible that Dame Vaida herself could beat him? But only a chance. And we can't risk her like that. Please don't get any foolish ideas of doing something yourself either. You will die if you confront him, there is not even the slightest chance you could win. Frankly the next most likely person to win that is Guy himself...but that is also only a remote chance."
"But...if there's nothing we can do, why did you even suggest that Guy go with Matthew?" Carrie demanded.
Grant simply raised an eyebrow at her. Matthew wondered how long it would take her to figure it out.
To her credit...it wasn't that long before she carefully looked back towards the spy and hesitantly asked, "Wait...is he...?"
"One of those two, yes." Grant confirmed.
Matthew looked down. He wanted to protest. He couldn't beat Karel in a straight fight, he knew that. But...he couldn't. Because it wouldn't be a straight fight. He could outrun the man, hide, escape his sight. Then, when he had the opportunity...even a demon has to sleep.
"He's with a company called Branta's Badgers." Grant gave Matthew more information he really didn't want to know. "What you do with that...is up to you. I still don't like you doing this alone, but I'll grant that I don't have anyone to offer that wouldn't get in your way, and I trust you to know your work."
I...I...can't face him. I don't need that. He doesn't need that. Karel though... Finding out where a mercenary group was wouldn't be too hard. Intercepting the demon on the way in...might be more problematic, but if he moved quickly.
"Here," Matthew hadn't even noticed Grant stand up, or pull out the small book the man was now holding out towards him, "I've been collecting notes on the morphs in the margins of this. There's also some instructions in the back on how to get a message to Vaida, just in case someone ever found my corpse and needed to let her know."
Cursing his inattentiveness, Matthew took the book and eyed it, amused to discover it was a pocket sized prayerbook. These things cost a pretty penny to print. And he's been keeping notes in it. Sounds about right.
"Alright." He stood up and pocketed the book, then looked over to Carrie, "Mind if I keep this sword?"
"Go ahead," she shrugged, not too concerned by the loss, "It's just a common iron sword, I can take a spare one from one of the mudsloggers here. Are...you leaving now?"
"Yeah. Or..." Matthew looked back to Grant, "any chance my things are in storage here at all?"
"Probably not, but I'll look. And I can spare you the gold to get yourself provisioned properly if not." Dusting his hands off, Grant walked over to the door and opened it up, calling for a soldier who had been waiting outside, "Guardsman, get two others and return here. I have some further orders for you..."
His things sadly hadn't been anywhere they could find in the base, but when Grant said he could spare the gold he wasn't joking. So it was that Matthew found himself setting out to get in at least a couple hours of travel before dark with nothing but the clothes on his back, a scribbled in prayerbook, a borrowed sword, and a pack with enough hard provisions to get him to a nearby town.
Oh, and a shiny white gem that he would be having a few words with a merchant in said town about.
As he walked, his mind raced with plans of how to investigate where the morphs were coming from, as well as speculation about their purpose. It felt good to have a solid goal, and one he could really focus on to the exclusion of all else.
Well, almost all else. He had something to do before really getting started on that job, and it wasn't just buying new gear. Sorry Karel. But you really aren't going to know what hit you.
Author's Note: Like Masterless Sword, this is going to be a two part chapter. Partially because this scene needed to happen but Matthew has more to do before we can get back to Guy, and partially because it makes for good symmetry for both of them to get a two part chapter like that. Thanks to Grant's timely information the plot that began brewing way back in the beginning is starting to come back to the fore, and next time Matthew gets to run straight into it.
However, a short note for my regular readers. You may need to wait until May for that update, as I'll be moving next month and that is one chapter I cannot afford to rush or halfass. Since I'm sure most if not all of you have also had moving disrupt other plans, I'm sure you understand. I will try and get a School of Hard Knocks chapter out at least, since that can be more fluff. If you're reading this at some point in the future for the first time, well, ignore this note! And hi future reader, hope you're enjoying the story!
And finally, as for Grant, Crispin and Carrie...well, after writing this I have firmly decided that I will have to get around to writing Right and Rulership, the story about the war in Bern, after Sword and Shadow is complete. Putting my internet rep where my mouth is, first chapter of that will be January 2012. Setting hard deadlines for myself seems to be working so far anyway~