Later that night, the three of them sat around the table in their accommodations. The spymaster had forked out on an entire dormitory style room, and had the staff remove all but three beds. It was downright luxurious compared to the marines’ usual berthings at sea or in camp, and Groth was visibly uncomfortable.

“Is there a problem, Sergeant Major?” Oliver asked without looking up as he pored over a map of the area.

“Nothing much, just not used to… all this,” Groth replied, glaring at an ornate vase filled with vibrant mauve flowers like they had personally wronged him.

“Yes, I imagine it’s quite a change of pace for you. Try to relax and enjoy it.”

The big man grunted. “Not sure I can. Feels dishonest, living in comfort here while the company is camped out in the forest. Also, I think those plants are giving me hay fever,” he said, stopping as his face screwed up and he let loose a deafening sneeze. “Smelly little shites… I thought spies were meant to keep a low profile anyway?” he said, rubbing the snot from below his nose.

“Please, I am no humble spy. I’m the Spy Master, and besides, renting an ostentatious room like this is entirely within character for the role I’m playing.”

“Right. And the wine?” Groth asked as Oliver picked his goblet up off the table and drained it. He smacked his lips and shrugged as he set it down and returned to the map.

“I like the vintage, but it’s expensive as sin. The Crown is funding this investigation so, stomp grapes while the sun shines, as they say.”

“Gods, but you two bicker like children,” Erwell said, looking up at the spymaster from the far side of the table. “Have you at least found any promising places to look?”

“From the briefing I received, the company was searching for a suspected bandit camp in the area. Now, a permanent or semi-permanent camp will need a source of water, which means somewhere along these three major waterways here,” he said, pointing at the corresponding areas on the map. “And it needs to be close enough to the roads that they can identify, attack and loot caravans passing through the region, which, to my mind, suggests these four main areas.”

Erwell nodded as he followed the spymaster’s finger. One spot stood out in particular. It was the furthest from the city, almost at the foot of the mountains. The nearby road was one of the largest in the province, connecting a string of productive mining towns to the regional capital, which would ensure a steady stream of wealthy caravans. The mountains themselves would also present a movement corridor for small groups to smuggle their ill-gotten gains into Aderath, meaning they could actually turn a profit without the risk of trading in Politis’ city. Even if the lord was involved, concealing the movement of such vast quantities of stolen goods would be difficult. He pointed out the area and explained his reasoning, Oliver nodding along.

“That makes sense. I hadn’t considered the mountains. I always thought they were impassable?”

“To large groups, sure,” Groth said. “But there are trails for small teams, if you know where to look. Griffon patrols are still a risk, but there’s a lot of range, and not many wings to cover it all. They mostly focus on the major passes further south.”

“Yes, I’m aware. There’s a single wing covering this area, though their eyrie is a fair ways north.”

“Good. Means I don’t have to worry about running into the arrogant ponces.”

“No love lost between you, then?” Oliver asked.

Erwell cut Groth off before he could launch into his usual tirade at the Riders. “Call it a professional rivalry. But back to the business at hand. How should we go about searching the area?”

“I say we follow the guide. At least at the start. We have time, and forcing him to take us here right out of the gates would raise suspicion. We’ll spend a week or so searching wherever Politis has him lead us, and then suggest this spot. I can even pitch it as my personal curiosity, wanting to see the famed mining towns. Make it seem like I’m treating the whole escapade like a holiday.”

Groth sat up, indignation flashing across his face. “So, we’ve got to sit here while my boys are stuck- “

He paused, his posture going rigid as he glanced at the door. Oliver opened his mouth to ask what was going on, but Groth put a finger to his lips.

“I see. You think the company has deserted and set up along a river somewhere?” he asked, louder than necessary. Picking up on what he was doing, Erwell jumped in, ignoring Oliver’s perplexed look.

“It seems likely. Gives them a steady source of fresh water, and there will be plentiful game to keep them fed.”

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

“Right. When the guide arrives, we’ll ask him which one to check out first.”

Groth held a hand up to forestall any more talk, and Erwell strained his ears, just making out the creak of a floorboard outside the room. A second creak a moment later betrayed someone creeping away from the door.

“Someone was eavesdropping?” Oliver asked in a whisper.

“Aye, but don’t worry. I picked him before he woulda heard what we were saying,” Groth replied.

“How can you be sure?”

“Groth’s senses are sharper than most,” Erwell interjected, thinking back to his first command mission into the Marduk jungle. “If he says he heard the eavesdropper first, I believe him.”

“I hope your trust is well placed,” Oliver said as, outside, the would be spy reversed course and returned to the door, stamping his feet to let them know he was coming. Erwell shook his head while Groth snickered. Oliver just muttered ‘fucking amateur,’ under his breath and refilled his goblet.

Erwell let the man in when he knocked, offering him a glass of Oliver’s wine despite the latter’s furious glare.

“Why, thank ye,” the newcomer said, taking the proffered goblet and gulping loudly. “By Cael’s cock, that’s a good drop. Guess there are perks to working direct for the Crown, eh? Anyhaps, I’m Jimmy, local hunter, with milord’s blessing. Lord Politis has sent me to be your guide.”

Despite being pissed off about the wine, Oliver immediately settled into his role as the bumbling administrator, pestering Jimmy with an unnecessarily long and convoluted introduction. While he spoke, Erwell took Jimmy’s measure.

He was short, probably no more than five foot five, with a wiry build. His dirty brown hair was cut close to the scalp, and his stubble looked to be only a day or two old. He was dressed in a hunter’s outfit that looked a little too new, though the bow slung over his back looked worn, yet well cared for. He was a military scout, dressed up as a hunter, no doubt a member of Politis’ household militia. The fact Politis had gone to the trouble of trying to deceive them further deepened Erwell’s suspicions, but the dickhead may have inadvertently provided them with an opportunity.

“Jimmy, pleased to meet you,” Erwell said, interrupting Oliver’s description of his sore buttocks from the carriage ride up. “We want to search the waterways in the province. Where should we start?”

Jimmy flashed an easy smile that set Erwell’s bullshit alarm ringing. “Right, I was gonna suggest that meself, truth told. See, the company you’re looking for passed through here on their way into the forest and I came across their tracks while hunting a few days ago. They were following this river here,” he said, wandering over and jabbing a finger at the watercourse the three men had already decided to search. Oliver and Erwell kept their faces carefully blank, but Groth frowned slightly. It couldn’t be coincidence that Jimmy wanted to take them there, but why? Was Erwell wrong in his assessment? He racked his brain but couldn’t come up with any other likely scenarios or locations. They were missing critical information.

His thoughts were brought back to the discussion when Oliver cleared his throat. “Ahem, can I just say, thank you very much Jimmy. I’m looking forward to travelling with you. Out of curiosity, how long do you expect it will take? I’m not much of an outdoorsman, so I’m a little apprehensive about long treks.”

Laying it on a bit thick, aren’t we? Erwell thought as Jimmy let out an unkind snicker.

“Only about a week to search along the riverbank, though it’ll take longer if the trail goes cold.”

“Oh bother,” Oliver said, his face crestfallen.

“Cheer up, the forest air does wonders for a man’s wind. I’m sure you’ll be fit as a fiddle in no time, sir.”

With a nasty grin still on his face, Jimmy extended Oliver a small bow, with a nod to Erwell and Groth before he left the room. Once he was gone, Oliver picked up the bottle and sculled the rest of its contents. Erwell gave him a sour look and folded his arms over his chest.

“Really?”

“Gotta finish it before you decide to hand goblets out to anyone else who comes strolling past,” Oliver replied. “Besides, this calls for a celebration.”

“Why?” Erwell asked. “He’s taking us where we wanted to go. Doesn’t that suggest we were wrong?”

“Maybe not, sir,” Groth interjected. He hesitated, but after a bemused smile and nod from Oliver, the big man continued. “I’ve always found people try disguise deception by wrapping it around a kernel of truth. Jimmy reckons he can take us along the company’s trail, convince us he knows what he’s doing, so when he tells us the trail has gone cold, we’ll trust him. If he’s bought our act, he probably doubts we’ll realise when he steers us away. But I’ll know, and there might even be useful information in knowing exactly where he tries to lead us astray.”

Erwell nodded as Oliver started chuckling.

“Are you sure you’re a soldier and not a spy, Sergeant Major? That was remarkably astute for a grunt. Where did you learn such things?”

Groth shot the spymaster a dirty glare and scoffed. “Marines are constantly getting themselves into strife on port visits. After a few years as a senior, you get good at picking the truth from the bullshit. And your average grunt is a damn sight smarter than you’d think. The dumb ones tend to die early in their careers.”

Oliver shrugged and wandered over to his bed after producing another bottle of wine from under the table. “If you say so, Sergeant Major. Anyhow, I’m off to bed. Sounds like we’ll have a big week starting tomorrow.”

Groth grunted an acknowledgement and ambled over to his own bed, but Erwell remained at the table, staring at the map. His eyes roved the thick forests and wide rivers, settling on the stylised mountains rising near the parchment’s periphery. He understood Groth’s logic, and the spymaster seemed content with it as well, but Erwell’s gut was telling him there was more to this than they knew. Something out there had been hunting caravans throughout the region. That something had also wiped out an entire company of the King’s soldiers, and Politis was almost certainly involved in some capacity. And then there was Jimmy, taking them exactly where they wanted to go.

Erwell sighed and sat back in his chair, gazing at the ceiling. Gods, but he wished his own company was here with him, not camped on the province’s border, three days south. There was a nasty surprise coming, he was sure of it, and he’d rather face it with a hundred of Calandor’s most talented killers at his back. Still, it was what it was. He settled his gaze back on the map, rolled it up and stashed it in his pack, then set about cleaning and checking his gear.

He paid especial care to his sword.