In The Prince's Secret Service - 2. Spymaster

…when rosy Dawn
Borne by swift steeds from Ocean, climbs
The sky…”
—Theorcitus, Idylls

The two boys reached a promontory east of the city of Arcadia just as the sun breached the horizon. They stood by their horses, side by side and holding hands as the first beams of the sun washed their faces in a deep red light. “Red sun at daybreak, a bright pleasant day makes,” intoned Patrick.

“Do you suppose it’s an omen?” Alan asked.

“Only of the weather,” Patrick replied. And only in this hemisphere. And only near the seacoast. In the northern hemisphere it goes. ‘Red sun in morning, traveler take warning’.”

“Well,” Alan declared, “I want it to be an omen. I want it to be an omen of bright, sunny days and warm, cozy nights together. You,” he said with a smile, grasping Patrick’s hand, “You are entirely too practical.”

While the sun climbed in the sky, the two boys rode easily down the Eastern Road.

Toward evening, the boys found themselves passing a large farmstead. The gates, largely ornamental this close to Arcadia, held a signboard with symbols indicating that food and lodging were offered.

“Shall we stay here for the night?” Alan suggested.

“My purse is heavy, but our journey will be long. This may be too expensive…” Patrick began, only to have Alan interrupt him.

“I told you that you were too practical. There will be nothing more on this road for another day’s ride, and I do not wish to sleep in the woods. They’re full of wild boar, here, and you’re the only one I want sharing my bed this night.”

Patrick’s blush was nearly as bright as the sun behind them. “Very well, let’s see what they have to offer.”

What the farmstead had to offer was adequate, indeed. After the horses were stabled, the boys were shown to a room only a few doors from the bath. “Dinner is at the second hour,” their host told them, “which will leave adequate time for a bath.”

After their host had left them, and as Alan started to undress, Patrick asked, “How much is this costing us?”

“Well,” Alan replied, “nothing. Our host is a friend of my father’s, and will send him the bill. My father doesn’t know this, yet. But he’ll pay, and think it a fine joke.”

Among the guests at the farmstead that night was a well dressed man—too well dressed for the road, Alan thought. When the man realized that Alan was looking at him, he started nervously. “What are you looking at, boy?”

“Your pardon, Master,” Alan bowed. “My eye was caught by your tunic, nothing more.”

The man huffed, and hurried through his meal, briskly excusing himself from the table.

Before Patrick and Alan retired to their room, their host asked for a word. “That fellow at supper? He’s a merchant, Cadfael, who stays here often, usually traveling with a caravan. He puts his people in the yard with their wagons, and sleeps inside, saying that he’ll be sleeping on the ground soon enough. Well, this is the first time I’ve seen him traveling alone. He was quite worried that you might be brigands who were checking him out and would rob him tomorrow. Alan, I assured him that you and your father were known to me, and that you were honorable. I told him no more than that. He would like to hire you to escort him on a journey to the south, if you would grant him the time to discuss the proposition.”

Alan looked to Patrick, who nodded. Patrick asked the host, “He is known to you as an honorable man?” When the host nodded, Patrick continued, “We will see him, then, and thank you.” The host gestured them toward a parlor and knocked on the door.

The door was opened by the merchant, who appeared quite agitated. “Thank you…thank you for agreeing to see me. Sorry for what I thought about you boys. Our host has vouched for you, and said he’d vouchsafe his assurances of me to you. Can’t be too careful. Not accustomed to traveling alone, but this trip…well…anyway. I’m traveling to Fortmain. Not carrying anything…no caravan. Need to get there in a hurry. Will you escort me? I’ll pay expenses and a shilling each day.”

“A shilling?” Alan exclaimed. For two fighters of our skill and experience? A crown apiece, and that’s not what the Guild would ask.”

Alan and the merchant negotiated before settling on expenses plus a half-crown for each boy each day, and a bonus of two crowns, each, upon arrival.

“We’ll leave at first light,” the merchant said, dismissing them.

“Patrick, will you share boy magic with me?” Alan whispered, as he took the Elven tween’s hand. Patrick’s answer was to pull Alan to him, and seal his mouth with a kiss.

Patrick held Alan as the boy gasped and shuddered with release. When the last of Alan’s boy magic had flowed from him to Patrick, the Elven tween released his partner. “I’ve never experienced such a great flow of boy magic. It’s as if you hadn’t shared in months…”

Alan answered slowly, choosing his words with care. “Patrick, I haven’t shared boy magic with anyone since the day I was brought to you. If you hadn’t allowed me to go with you today, I think I would never have shared again. I wouldn’t have told you that this morning, because I think it might have hurt you. But now…now I think I can share my heart with you just as I share boy magic with you.”

“But…” Patrick sputtered, “You were the most popular boy at the school. You were always sleeping with someone.”

“No…everyone—including you, it seems—thought I was sleeping with someone else. Now, do you have any boy magic for me?”

“Umm,” Patrick mumbled, “I do. And perhaps quite a lot of it. After I first treated you, I shared boy magic with David…you remember him, he was the one who helped bandage you. Since then, you see, I haven’t shared with anyone since that same day.”

The next morning found Alan in the stables before first light, feeding and saddling his mount, the Clydesdale ironically named Dasher, and Patrick’s Elven stead, Windchaser. In the main house, Patrick loaded a pack with hard bread, cheese, and pemmican, purchased for a few pennies. The master farmer, their host, gave him some advice as the boy packed.

“Cadfael will want to take farm roads to Fortmain. It’s shorter than going the Royal Road through Cross Creek. Should take you six days. Can you read? Of course you can. Here. Take a look at this map. You can copy it if you’d like. Oh, don’t worry. For all Cadfael’s talk I’ve never known him to be ready to leave before an hour after sunrise. See the marks on the map? Of course you do. Those are farmsteads where folks will put you up at night. Insist on it…shouldn’t be hard to convince Cadfael to sleep in a bed rather than on the ground. Here…this is a river. It’ll be frozen solid. Walk your horses, though. Fine animals you have, but you’d rather lose one than fall beneath the ice. No hope for you if that happened. Trust me on this. This farmstead, that’s my son-in-law. Name’s Bobson. I’ve got a letter for him. Would you take it? Of course you will. He knows Cadfael, and I’ve already added a line telling him that you and Alan are okay.”

The farmer left Patrick with the map, which he quickly sketched into a page of his journal, noting the names adjacent to the farmsteads marked on the route. He had completed this task and his breakfast before Cadfael stumbled out of his room and into the parlor.

“Ha, there you are. Patrick, aren’t you? Where’s your companion?”

“In the stable, Master Cadfael, preparing the horses. I’ve a pack of food. Nothing that will spoil. It should serve for lunches along the route,” the boy replied. “The pottage is good this morning…”

“Uhm. Thank you. I’ll skip that. Are you ready to leave? Is your account settled? Your job and my payment don’t start until today, you know.”

*****

When the party reached the frozen river, Cadfael refused to walk, and insisted on riding his horse. Alan led, Cadfael followed, and Patrick brought up the rear.

A sharp crack echoed from the low hills along the riverbank. Alan turned in time to see Cadfael fall from his horse, the man’s arms flailing against the air, as he plunged into a jagged hole in the ice that had opened beneath his horse’s hooves. The horse shied, and stepped away from the hole, his iron-shod hooves biting into the ice. Cadfael succeeded in grabbing onto a jagged edge of ice, but his grip was unsure and he began to sink into the river that raged under the ice.

Alan dropped Dasher’s reins and rushed toward Cadfael. Throwing himself prone onto the ice, the boy grabbed Cadfael’s hand. The man was now chest-deep in the rushing water, the force of which was pulling him deeper. Alan was unable to gain purchase on the slippery ice and was pulled toward the hole.

Patrick quickly assessed the situation. A surge of the boy magic he received from Alan the night before limned his arms. Thus reinforced, they swept through the matrix, gathering and bundling strands of magic. The Elven tween sent power from one arm to lock onto Alan; power from the other arm locked onto a tree on the riverbank. The lines of force met at his heart and knotted together. Pulling his arms together in front of his chest, he used magic rather than physical force to slowly pull Alan, still grasping Cadfael’s hand, back from the hole. When both were safe on solid ice, Patrick relaxed his grip on the magic, which returned to the matrix.

Because he had used boy magic to catalyze his spell, Patrick was not as tired as he might otherwise have been. He skated across the ice gathering the horses’ reins while Alan hefted Cadfael onto his shoulder.

With Patrick leading the horses, and Alan carrying the shivering Cadfael, the trio reached the shore. Patrick quickly tied the horses to a tree. Turning to Alan he asked, “Please gather wood for a fire. I’ll need a heat source.”

While Alan went about building a fire, Patrick examined Cadfael. The man’s heartbeat was slow and weak. The man’s body, deprived of heat by the icy water, began to shut down. Patrick channeled some magic into Cadfael’s chest, pulsing it to the time of his own heartbeat to regulate the beat of the man’s heart.

As soon as Alan had the fire going, Patrick once again harnessed magic to create a conduit from the fire to the man’s body, channeling the heat of the fire, diffusing it so that it did not burn, and gradually warmed Cadfael, starting with the internal organs. In a matter of minutes, the man’s eyes opened and he quickly assessed the situation.

“You…you’re a mage and a healer?” he addressed Patrick, “as well as a warrior?”

“A better healer than a mage, I think,” answered Patrick, “and a better mage than a warrior, to be sure.”

Cadfael turned to Alan and asked, “What talents do you have that I don’t know of? Are you a mage, as well?”

Alan responded in the negative. Patrick remembered that he had detected Innate magic in the boy, but kept this memory to himself for the moment.

Cadfael sat huddled in a blanket, no longer in danger. He sipped a cup of herbal tea that Patrick had brewed, while Alan prepared a supper from their trail supplies: hard cheese, fruit-pemmican, and flatbread.

“Boys,” Cadfael began, “I’ve underestimated you. I owe you my life thrice over. Had Alan not been so quick to jump to my aid—at considerable risk to himself—I would have been pulled under the ice to a frightening death. Had Patrick not been so quick with his magic, and then so skilled as a healer, I would have died of the cold. I must confess that I did not fully appreciate the dangers of this mission…this trip.”

The man took another sip of his tea and continued, “I now believe my success depends on your understanding of the purpose of my mission, and your…more than your hired help…your dedication, if you will, to its success. Will you take an oath to keep a secret? I assure you,” he hastened to add, “that there is nothing to this secret that would serve you ill.”

Patrick and Alan looked at one another. “A moment, please,” Patrick asked Cadfael.

After a whispered conversation with Alan, Patrick said, “We both swore allegiance to the Light when we became boys, and again when we became tweens. Alan has sworn citizen’s loyalty to Prince Auric; I swore a similar oath when I took Arcadian citizenship. I have also sworn loyalty to King Oberon, and a healer’s oath. If you ask us to hold a secret, you must know first that we will not be foresworn of these existing oaths.”

“I’m glad you answered as you did,” Cadfael replied. “I will not tell you anything, nor ask you to do anything, that would cause you to be foresworn. Will you now swear to keep secret what I am to tell you, and not to divulge it to anyone except in the service of Arcadia and of the Light?”

At the reference to an oath of service to both the country and to the Light, the boys looked at one another. This man is more than a merchant, Patrick thought. What have we gotten ourselves into? Nevertheless, he agreed. “I will.”

“I will,” agreed Alan.

“In that case, you should know that I am not just a merchant, but an agent for Prince Auric. As I travel, I gather information about threats to Arcadia. Specifically, I gather information about dangers from Dark Forces that might be working against the country.” Cadfael paused, and then added, looking at Patrick, “You might be interested to know that copies of my reports are sent to King Oberon, as well.”

He continued, “For some months, I have been gathering information about activities in and around the city of Fortmain. My agent there believes he has located one of the old fortresses from the Great Wars so many aeons ago. He believes he’s found an entrance south of the mountains near Fortmain. He does not know if the fortress belonged to the forces of Light or those of the Dark. In matter of fact, this area was near the border during the Great Wars. It may have been overrun several times. Any fortress in that area would likely have been occupied by both sides. It is possible that relics and documents—parts or plans for great war engines, mundane and magical—may be hidden therein. They must not fall into the hands of Evil!”

Cadfael paused again to accept a fresh cup of herbal tea from Patrick. “I am traveling to Fortmain to see this for myself. If it is true, then the fortress must be searched. Neither my agent nor I am equipped to do so. It would not do to send a large force from Arcadia; they would be spotted by both Evil and by opportunists. Such a force would draw too much attention to the fortress. No, any exploration team must be small, but must include both fighting strength and a mage to examine magical items. A cleric, too, should be included, but since neither of you is a cleric, you’ll just have to do.”

Patrick and Alan exchanged a nervous glance. “Just what are you proposing?” Patrick asked. “We’ve agreed to keep your secret, but aside from escorting you to Fortmain, we’re not in your service.”

Cadfael nodded, “I understand. Let me finish. I’m proposing that you accept a commission to act in the name of Prince Auric to explore this fortress—if it exists, of course. You would turn over to the prince’s agent in Fortmain any war materials you might find; you would be expected to provide maps of the areas you explored and a description of any war materials that were too large to remove; you would be rewarded with…yes, with any treasure you might find, against expenses payable in gold from the Royal Treasury.”

Cadfael fell silent, but the boys knew that he wasn’t through. After a moment he continued, “Using your own judgment, you would recruit people to join you. You’d want a cleric, of course, and perhaps more fighting strength. You’d swear your companions to the same oath of secrecy that binds you, and to the same contract I’ve outlined. How you share treasure with your companions would be up to you. I cannot exaggerate the importance of carefully selecting your companions.”

Patrick and Alan sat, stunned. Six hours earlier, they’d been two tweens without any real idea of what their life might hold. Like many tweens, they had set out to wander the world, with no specific goals. Now they were being asked to accept a commission from the prince. Patrick surreptitiously gestured, and shaping magic and sending it toward Cadfael to echo back; the man was telling the truth.

Cadfael started. “You just truth-told me, didn’t you?” When Patrick nodded, the man added, “I wondered when you’d do that. I guess my story was getting a little hard to believe, wasn’t it.” He chuckled.

By this time, Cadfael was warmed and his clothes dried. However, they had lost too much time to reach the next farmstead on the map and were forced to camp beside the road. Alan selected a site in a hollow, well masked by bushes and taller trees that would allow them to have a small fire to help keep away the cold. Although Patrick set magical wards, Cadfael asked that they also keep watch that night.

During his watch, Alan paced silently from one side of the hollow to the other. When he and Patrick had left Arcadia, he’d thought…no, he really hadn’t thought.It never was going to be just one long hunting trip, was it? Sooner or later we were going to run into something. Patrick seems to think that this fellow is on the level. Whoa! I had no idea Prince Auric had spies! An old fortress…I remember the stories Father used to tell…What sort of treasure might be there that would have been left for thousands of years? Alan spent the night in speculation.

*****

The bright sun and a slightly rougher trail kept Alan awake, despite his near total lack of sleep the night before, but he was especially glad to see a farmstead appear in a valley as they crested a hill.

“Master Cadfael,” Patrick spoke as they walked their horses down the hill toward the farm, “It occurred to me that it is no accident that we stay at specific farms and not at others. After all, just about any farmer would be pleased to pick up a shilling or two, and it appears that the harvest was good…they all likely have surplus food. Is it correct, then, that these farmers are part of your information network?”

Cadfael looked at Patrick. “Your question was well thought and elegantly phrased. Now, use the same intellect to arrive at a reason why I will not answer that question.” His smile took any sting that the words might have contained.

Patrick pondered for a moment before answering, “Because what I don’t know, I can’t reveal, either through betrayal or by accident or…” he paused, then continued, “…or under torture.”

Cadfael nodded, pleased at the speed with which the boy had reached that conclusion. “And you will receive the same protection; only a few people will know of your involvement. I will; my agent in Fortmain will; two or three members of the prince’s Privy Council will; and, I will establish your credentials with Prince Auric’s Secretary of State. Should anything happen to me and you need to prove that you are acting under my authority, you can petition him. Be sure to tell Alan this, as well.”

The boys made quick work of bathing and dinner, and retired to the room that had been given them. The bed was stuffed with straw and there was no heat in the room, but the blankets were thick and in no time the boys’ body heat—stirred up by their enthusiastic sharing of boy magic—had thoroughly warmed the bed.

“Alan,” Patrick whispered later, “Did you know that you have innate magic? I saw it…that day you were hurt, but forgot all about it until Cadfael asked yesterday if you had any talents he didn’t know about.”

Alan was silent for a moment. “Patrick, I don’t really know what you mean. I know about boy magic—of which, by the way, yours is the best—and I know how to use it to fletch arrows, light a fire, shoe a horse…all that stuff…you know. But I don’t know about in…in…that other one.”

“Well,” Patrick began, “Some people are born with a magical talent. It means that you can work a little magic without being a trained mage or cleric. It’s both a good thing and a bad thing. It’s good because…” The boy’s voice went silent as he heard Alan’s breathing slow. Patrick’s companion was asleep. Oh well, Patrick thought,Alan’s nothing if not practical. Right now, he probably needs sleep more than he needs a lecture on magic theory. Wrapping his arms around Alan, Patrick pulled the boy’s warmth to him, and quickly fell asleep, himself.

Cadfael led them through the streets of Fortmain, and pointed to the sign above a nondescript inn. The sign depicted a Troll, seemingly frozen in an awkward position, and looking as if a puff of air would send it crashing to the ground. A closer look revealed that the artist who painted this sign was more gifted than most: the look of surprise on the Troll’s face was obvious, and quite comical. The body of the Troll appeared to be made of wooden beams, connected with large bolts.

“The Wooden Troll,” Cadfael announced. “Not the best place in town, but clean enough, despite its looks. An unassuming place. We won’t draw the attention here that we would at either a better place or a worse place. My contact will find us easily. He eats his dinner here, and we are known to be acquaintances. His job as a freight forwarder…” the man stopped at the boys’ puzzled looks. “He collects and holds small packages for merchants, and then sends them to Arcadia when he has enough to warrant a convoy or to fill a wagon in someone else’s convoy. Good cover for people, goods, and notes we send back and forth. This is all part of the secret, you know.” Cadfael did not add that another of Cadfael’s agents in Arcadia operated a sister business. The boys didn’t need to know that information.

The boys nodded, and then followed Cadfael to the stables behind the inn.

When they entered the common room, Cadfael strode buoyantly across the room toward a table where one man was sitting. As Cadfael approached, the man stood and extended his hand, “The innkeeper said you were here, my friend,” the man said.

“Arrived an hour or two ago. Durber, please meet Alan and Patrick, who accompanied me from Arcadia.”

Durber extended his hand to Patrick and Alan while Cadfael seated himself at the table, gesturing for the boys to sit beside him. A boy brought trenchers, a large plate of hot meat and cold cheese, and a basket of bread. “What to drink,” he asked, as he positioned these items on the table. Patrick and Alan asked for small beer, to the boy’s puzzlement. “It’s called ‘barley water’ in these parts,” Durber announced, before beginning a conversation with Cadfael involving the high cost of shipping, and other seeming inconsequential matters.

After dinner, Cadfael asked the boys to accompany him and Durber to the latter’s office, where he introduced Patrick and Alan as the adventurers who would begin the exploration of the fortress that Durber has found.

“Fine enough, lads,” Durber said, considerably more friendly for knowing that the boys were allies and members—however new—of the Arcadian intelligence service. “Whatever you find that may be magical, any maps, especially showing fortifications, you bring here and I’ll see that they get to Cadfael.”

“Look you,” he added, pulling a jug from a shelf behind him. “Notice anything odd?”

“The mouth is larger than normal,” replied Alan. “It’s used to hide small items, papers, in waxed, waterproof pouches, isn’t it?”

Cadfael guffawed at Durber’s surprised look. “No, not a smuggler’s son; he’s just a very smart boy.”

The discussion then turned to Durber’s discovery of the entrance to a fortress, warnings of what the boys might expect to find, and means of contacting Cadfael should they not be able to find Durber. “Not that I expect to go anywhere,” the man said, “But this isn’t the safest job in the world, especially if Evil is rising.”

“You two continue to impress me,” Cadfael said. “I happen to believe that the forces of Light and Darkness strive to remain in Balance, and that for every Evil that arises some Good also arises. I think you two didn’t meet by accident; I think that I did not meet you by accident, either. There’s something else I want you to do. Patrick has guessed that certain farmers and cotters are among my contacts. To be blunt, I don’t have any such south of Fortmain, and need them. On the other hand, if I’m right, Evil is growing in that area and anyone you approach might be an agent of Evil. That’s the challenge. If you meet someone who you believe is Good, someone who lives at a farm or cot or holt, in a town or village, south of Fortmain, try to recruit them into your own network. It’s important that they not know about me, and that I don’t know about them. That way, I can’t betray them, and they can’t betray me.

“They can, however, betray you. So you must be very careful. Weigh the risk with the benefit. Is the person in a position to observe? Can he report? He must be able to read and write; he must have a reason to send letters…”

Cadfael’s instructions took most of the night, and the matins bell had rung long before the boys got to bed.