Curse: The Dark God Book 2 by John D. Brown Page B

horror.
    Argoth had learned long ago never to trust someone you didn’t know. And even though Eresh had now confirmed that this Flax was actually a man of the Hand of Mayhan, Argoth was still wary of him. He would wait and see. Action, more than anything else, proved a man. And just because he was a man of the Hand, didn’t mean his goals aligned with Shim’s.
    The group followed Shim to his upper chamber. They lit candles, then shuttered and curtained the window that looked out on the court so the conversation could not be overheard. Shim sat behind his mahogany table that shone with a dull luster from the candlelight. The tanned hide of a bear he had speared as a youth was draped over the back of the chair. Behind him on the wall hung the new device of his army. It was in the shape of a shield. The field was half blue, half white, and in the center, was a large sun made of brass. The blue for courage and loyalty. The white for purity. And the sun to represent knowledge and power.
    Shim’s fathers had preserved it and kept it hidden. From generation to generation they’d passed it down. One of Shim’s ancestors had been a loreman who had been hunted down by the Divines. But a scion had survived the extermination of that line and kept both the tale and the device.
    As they filed into Shim’s chamber, Matiga stood with Argoth. Eresh stood off to the other side, disgust on his face, never taking his one good eye off the blond man. Flax came in last and stood before them.
    Argoth said, “I never sent a message to the Hand.”
    “But you did send one to Bream of Darkbridge,” Flax said. “The grove I’m in is affiliated with his. Bream himself could not come, but I have his token and a letter.” Flax retrieved a piece of parchment from his pocket along with a plain scarf.
    Argoth took both, then walked to the window and pulled the curtain back and unshuttered the window. He examined the seal of the letter in the strong light. It looked like it hadn’t been tampered with. Furthermore, it was Bream’s special seal featuring three horse heads with a line across the bottom. He motioned Matiga over who examined it as well.
    “That’s Bream’s,” she said.
    Argoth broke the seal and read the note. It simply said, “The bearer returns your token at my behest. We are interested in your proposed venture, but feel reluctance. Convince him.”
    Argoth held the scarf up and found the corner. In it was stitched the simple figure of a bear. Matiga pulled out her knife and cut the stitching on the back to reveal the smaller image of a stork.
    “This is the token that was sent out,” she said. Then she and Argoth stepped back from the window, shuttered it, and replaced the thick curtain. Argoth handed the letter to Shim and nodded. It all could be faked, but someone would have to be deep in Bream’s counsel to get it all right.
    Shim read the note and said, “Reluctance?”
    Flax said, “Bream is being watched. He dared not risk come out of hiding. I volunteered to come here and see if this was a trap or an opportunity.”
    “And what have you found?”
    “I don’t know yet,” said Flax. “With all respect to your efforts, what I see is, well, not an army of dreadmen. Your candidates wear weaves that are poorly made. What’s worse, they’re almost all running dry. And how many lore masters do you have here that can replenish them when they do fail? Half a dozen at the most. There’s no way so few can sustain an army even half the size of this one.”
    “You have no idea how many lore masters we have,” said Eresh.
    Flax continued, “And even if someone were able and willing to bleed his life away to fill these weeds you call weaves, you don’t have the right ratio of full, seasoned dreadmen to candidates for proper training. Five-to-one is ideal. You have, what, twenty-five or forty to one? So I don’t know. Joining such a”—he searched for the word—“hasty operation might lead to our doom. On the other