Disciple of War Disciple of War (Art of the Adept #4) - Michael G. Manning Page 0,116

wizard.”

Will bristled inwardly at the phrasing but he didn’t bother trying to educate the man. Lionell had a point, though. If the vampire had been a wizard of some sort, he wouldn’t have engaged Will the way he had, nor would he have died as easily. “Did he have a companion?”

“His wife.”

He interrogated the Darrowan commander for another fifteen minutes before dismissing the man so he could be transported to Barrowden. He got enough information to locate the ‘wife,’ but after sending several squads and an exhaustive search, it was discovered that the woman had disappeared sometime after the battle, which was pretty much what Will had expected.

Will busied himself with his other duties for the rest of the day, then returned to his tent. Lieutenant Renly was waiting on him. “Have you inspected the quarters within Klendon yet, sir?”

“No, why should I? We won’t be staying there,” said Will somewhat sourly as he removed his boots and massaged his sore feet.

“We could have for the last few days at least,” whined Renly under his breath.

Will pretended not to hear. “I’m going to install Commander Bradshaw in Klendon anyway. He and Fourth Division will be handling logistics and protecting our supply chain so Klendon is the perfect location for him to operate from.”

“An entire division? That’s one-sixth our force, sir.”

“I’m familiar with fractions, Lieutenant,” Will snapped. “The supply lines are absolutely essential. They’re the easiest way for the Patriarch to stop our advance. That’s why I risked so much to take Klendon.”

Renly pursed his lips, clearly irritated at the lecture but not daring to show it. He returned to his original question. “You should still inspect the captain’s quarters in Klendon before we march.”

Will raised one brow. “Why?”

“There might be some vital intelligence to be found.”

“It’s been thoroughly searched already. I don’t see what more I could add to that,” said Will, but then he paused. There had been a notable lack of letters and other paper records in Lionell Durant’s office and personal quarters. Will had assumed they were burned or otherwise destroyed, but what if that wasn’t really the case?

Then again, I’m the Royal Marshal. I can’t be expected to do everything myself, he thought, repeating his original reasoning for not taking a personal hand in the previous searches. Will chewed his lip. He also knew he had advantages when it came to his senses. It was entirely possible he would find something the others had missed—and he had no further plans that evening.

With a sigh, he began tugging his boots back on.

Chapter 32

Captain Commander Durant’s personal quarters were modest and sparsely decorated, as befitted a military commander, at least in Will’s opinion. The room had been thoroughly tossed already, but someone had carefully put everything back in its place in preparation for whoever would take up residence there. Dozens of people had been in and out, and every item had been moved and examined.

Will wandered around the room, wondering what he could possibly find after a week had gone by. There were two excellent paintings, which he studied with some interest, but neither told him anything. He lifted them away from the wall and looked behind them, just to be sure, but he was certain that others had already done the same. He found nothing.

He moved the furniture around and examined the walls, floors, and even the ceiling—all things he was sure that others had done before him, but he did it anyway. He carefully increased his visual turyn sensitivity so he could even the faintest magical traces, but still found nothing. That would have been more effective right after the battle, though, he admitted silently. After a week it’s unlikely there would be anything left to find, unless there’s an active ward or other enchantment.

The walls were stone, so tapping on them to try and find voids wasn’t very helpful, though Will tried that too. But if the surface is thick enough, I won’t be able to hear a difference, he thought.

The last thing he tried before giving up was adjusting his vision through different parts of the light spectrum. The world looked very different depending on what you used to see it. In heart-light, the room was dull and relatively featureless, almost monotone, with different types of light it varied more, but nothing special stood out to him.

Eventually he switched to the strangest and most difficult type of vision. He didn’t have a name for it, but he thought of it as the opposite of