Tyrr looked up as the door came open, assessing what the eyes told him. Across the table, Kaafk pushed his ledger aside, then wrinkled his nose.
The soldier Ingram stank of horse sweat and swamp decay, all made damp and pungent again by his own rank perspiration. A beard of several days darkened his face, and nearly every bit of mail, leather and armor plate that he wore seemed to have acquired some blemish or other. He had removed his helmet as he entered Tyrr's chambers, revealing the stiff, matted mass his hair had become underneath it. He now stood still and waited, chest heaving; he was apparently still out of breath from his arrival and subsequent efforts to report at once upstairs, as he had been ordered.
A reliable, enduring commander, Tyrr thought, and one who put duty ahead of all else—including hygiene.
"You were successful?" Tyrr made the Ferris resemblance ask a question already couched in doubt; Ingram had been away to Golemesk three weeks longer than planned, and no messengers had been sent with news, indicating there was little of it.
Ingram looked stricken. "We were not, Lord Ferris."
Calmly, Tyrr absorbed the knowledge. "Explain."
"We worked the edges of Golemesk, talking to people everywhere in the region, but no one seemed to know anything, even when offered gold coins, even when tortured. So we began a search of the more habitable parts of the swamp, working our way inward, checking each trail and dwelling we uncovered. Then incidents began to occur."
"Incidents?" Kaafk asked.
Tyrr silently awaited the captain's answer.
"At first only noises, a sudden splashing, or the snapping of branches nearby, a faint growling noise around dusk, but never within sight—and whistling, though it was an animal sound, not like any I have heard. Then my men began to vanish."
"Vanish?" Tyrr made the mouth ask.
Kaafk silently awaited the captain's answer.
"Squads returned short a man or two, saying they had been riding a path, nothing strange about it, and the next look around, there was one of the horses with an empty saddle and no trace of the soldier, no sound or scuffle."
"Ah," Kaafk said. "Good! This tells us that someone there has reason to chase you off."
"I began to suspect these areas, of course," Ingram continued. "So I mounted a force of thirty men and began a thorough search in the region where the last man was lost. We found nothing, but as dusk approached, they found us."
He looked off momentarily, growing distant, his mind apparently distracted.
"Who?" Tyrr insisted.
"Leshys."
Tyrr absorbed this, too. Something he had vaguely considered in his plan, of course, though only so much was known of such creatures, the knowledge passed on by those that had gone before. "Creatures of nuisance," he affirmed. "What of them?"
"A most deadly nuisance," Ingram replied. His breathing had slowed to normal now, but his posture was beginning to sag, blending with the general air of physical and personal defeat that shone in his face, despite his efforts to hide it.
"They came from the shadows of dusk as we tried to leave," he said. "We didn't know what we were fighting at first. You cannot see them until they are upon you, until their horrible animal faces fill your eyes. My men have many teeth marks, those that survived." Ingram turned and displayed the wound on the back of his own neck: twin half ovals made of pointed red punctures that had begun to scab over. "They hang on with their teeth, then hack or beat a man to death with knives and stones and thick branches.
"I lost eleven men in the first encounter before the creatures suddenly vanished as if by magic. There was nothing, not a sound nor a trace anywhere, by the time we rallied. We waited in the area awhile, searching nearby, but nothing else happened.
"Finally we gathered our dead and began to ride out. The second attack came only moments later, just like the first, though in near darkness. I split the men into pairs and ordered them to cut the beasts off each other. We killed a few, but I lost seven more men before the attack ended. We looked for the bodies of the creatures we'd killed, but the others must have dragged them all off. Or—"
Ingram stood there a moment, mouth half-open, as if some thought or other was stuck there and would not allow it to close. "Or they do not die," he said finally.
Tyrr watched a chill rake Ingram briefly.
"A very great nuisance, apparently," Kaafk said, looking at Tyrr, raising his eyebrows. "Soldier's work, certainly."
He smiled, looking across the table, then dropped the smile and rubbed his rather large nose. "Well, they must be hiding something."
Tyrr absorbed the knowledge. "Perhaps not," he said. "This is the way with leshys. Annoying, fascinating, rather delectable creatures, really," he added, recalling stories of what good sport they had been when demons had last walked on this world, how tasty they were supposed to be once you caught enough of them to make a good meal. "They need no reason to kill those who enter their domain, I think. Still, there may be more to it.
"I have many advocates throughout the land, from the southern seas to the Spartooths, all gathering information. I grow ever more convinced that the Demon Blade has come to reside in that region, and I want it found. There must be additional searches made. If it is in Golemesk, then that is where we must go to retrieve it. If all the leshys must die, then die they must. I can arrange some help for your leshy problem if you need it, Captain. Go and clean yourself up. And report to me tomorrow. We will discuss your new orders then."
"I am sorry, my liege. I have failed in my mission. I will accept whatever action—"
"If I were truly disappointed, Captain, you would know it," Tyrr said. Control, he reminded himself, denying his first thoughts with practiced efficiency. It would be inappropriate for the grand chamberlain to show disfavor by consuming the good captain. And, of course, quite wasteful! It would have been too easy to let himself slip again, to let his essence show, more signs that his carefully forged construct and controlling spells were beginning to erode. They required constant attention, as did his demeanor. But he knew that too well. That is how the many who came before me failed, he thought.
The longer he remained in this world, the more difficult it would become to contain himself within his human form. The longer things took . . .
But there was no reason to get—excited. There would be time enough, or he would think of ways to ensure that there would. There was no cause for worry. No need!
"Go," he told Ingram. "I'll have no need of you until tomorrow." The captain bowed, turned and hurried out, closing the door behind him. Kaafk slid the ledger back in front of him but did not look at the figures.
"You don't strike me as a merciful, forgiving man, my liege," Kaafk said, gazing through the room's only window, then finding Tyrr with the corner of one eye. "Yet sometimes your lenience surprises me. You don't intend to discipline Ingram at all."
Tyrr saw that it was more statement than question. And perhaps part of a calculation. Kaafk was like most men of power, lacking discipline yet expecting it from others, enjoying his own ideas of success while berating men of lesser stature at every turn, preying upon them, even those he relied on. In this they were like demonkind—a deficiency, Tyrr thought, no matter how intrinsic it seemed, that ultimately divided men and wasted resources and opportunities in ridiculous proportions. And like his own kind, men seemed slow to learn from their mistakes and those of others. Tyrr would shine against their dimness as he outshined the old demons, would soar above them as he soared above Tybree.
"He does his best," Tyrr said, certain of that. "He is, after all, only human." Another slip, Tyrr realized, but an affordable one.
Kaafk looked at him in silence, considering the remark, then he seemed to let it go. He went back to his ledgers, to completing his account of the already remarkable profits enjoyed by his guild and the others that had aligned themselves with him, with the "new" order. Though this was nothing, Tyrr insisted, compared to what would be theirs once Neleva and the great northern fiefs were finally conquered. Then Tyrr could shed the human construct he wore like a prison, and reclaim the glory that had once belonged to demonkind—the world that had been taken from them.
He watched a familiar smile of contentment spread across Kaafk's heavy face.
"I am pleased that you are pleased," Tyrr made the mouth say.
"Here," Kaafk said, chuckling. He lifted his pen and slid the ledger across the table. "As you can see, by the end of the month—"
"Your figures do not concern me, Kaafk. I need only what I need, and you seem well able to provide it."
"How will you know if I cheat you?" Kaafk asked, looking up just enough to fix Tyrr with a measured gaze.
Tyrr made the lips smile. He could force the merchant to tell every truth the man had ever known, if he thought it necessary. But Kaafk seemed to have a refreshing and useful lack of tolerance for hypocrisy in any form, and a limited desire to see his throat slit. He would cheat Tyrr sooner or later, of course, but as yet, he had not.
"I will know," Tyrr made the mouth say.
Kaafk seemed to ponder this a moment, then he pulled the ledger back and, without looking down, broke into laughter.
"You do not fear me, do you Kaafk?" Tyrr asked, curious as to what the man's answer might be.
Kaafk paused, finally glanced back down at his writings, then let another chuckle slip. "As much as I think I have to, my liege," he said.
"Beware your estimates," Tyrr replied.
Kaafk, for just an instant, displayed a clear flicker of dread. Then he shook his head and grinned, and returned to his figures.
Tyrr absorbed the notion, and felt a twinge of pleasure.