Read The Immortal Mystic (Book 5) for Free Online Page B

horse to the enemy, unless they had first given it poison.” He pointed to it and continued, “They believe the gift of a horse is a gift of honor. Therefore, when they send messages upon a horse, they choose one that is either sickly, or they make it sick, thereby turning it into a gift that dishonors the receiver.”
    The men quickly took the horse’s lead and went off toward the rear gate. A few of them broke off, presumably to get shovels.
    Mercer limped along, slowly leading Lepkin and Dimwater back into the main keep. He took them through the main audience chamber and into the commander’s quarters. It was a simple enough room, with a long table in the center holding a map of the area and a mockup of Ten Forts built out of wood. A desk was situated along the west wall of the room, and a shelf in the back of the room held various books and tomes. Mercer pointed to the third shelf. “When I was in command, there were books there. They were manuals that I studied. Some were on wars past, others on formation and battlefield strategy. Some of them were handed down to me from the previous commander, others were manuals that I personally sought and collected.”
    “Where are they now?” Lepkin asked.
    “I suspect that our dear Eddin Finorel has given them to the enemy, for none of them were here when I took possession of the room. I asked some of the other officers about it, but none had any idea that the texts were missing.” Mercer limped to the desk and sat down. “I was ordering my desk last night. I couldn’t sleep with the constant bombardment from the trebuchets, and I had several missives to write.” Mercer ran his hand along the underside of the desk and then suddenly stopped. “I found this.” He jerked his wrist and a wooden drawer shot out from under the table. Mercer pushed back with his feet, scooting the chair along the stone and motioning for Lepkin to look inside the drawer.
    Lepkin quickly moved in and pulled a handful of letters from the drawer. He opened the first. “Send all of them,” he read aloud. He flipped the note over, but there were no other words upon it. He dropped the note to the top of the desk and looked at Dimwater, then back to Mercer.
    “Go on, read the others,” Mercer prodded.
    Lepkin opened the next. This one was written by a different hand. The penmanship was unrefined, with crooked letters and heavily marked periods and commas. “Now we have sufficient information, please report to Gilifan that we are ready. If he commands it, we could march within the month.” Lepkin flipped the note over, inspecting the parchment. “This looks to be fairly old,” he said. “The paper is stiff with age.”
    Mercer nodded. “There are plenty of notes in there. Many of them are old as the one you currently hold in your hand.” Mercer took the note from Lepkin and held it up for Dimwater. “I believe this one was written by an orc. I have captured orc missives before, and the pattern of writing seems to fit their style. Each of the strokes are heaviest on the downward lines and the punctuations, which is something that is common among orcish writing.”
    Lepkin nodded. “They always start each symbol with a downward stroke. Only then do they make the remaining motions for each letter or symbol.”
    Mercer held up a finger. “And the punctuations are always marked heavily. You can see the exact same patterns on the message they sent to us today.”
    “This isn’t the same handwriting as what is on the note outside,” Lepkin commented.
    Mercer shook his head. “No, but I believe they are related.” He pointed to the stack and shook a finger. “A couple of the notes make a reference to Elshu’appa,” he said. “Even if there wasn’t the handwriting style, a reference to Elshu’appa is enough for me.”
    “The first orc high king,” Dimwater said breathlessly. “It would seem that these are written by an orc then. So Eddin Finorel had been working with them a long