The Unknown Enemy.Chapter 11.

Chapter 12.

Whispers Sent Toward a Hidden Enemy.

King Syldan sent for Thallian, the Chief Clerk. The poor man was horrified when he was told that one of his own clerks was a traitor.

“I would like to know why he is working for Tizard,” Syldan said. “But for the moment, I do not want him arrested. I have a use for him.”

Thallian bowed his head, his face red with shame. “I feel it is my fault, sire. I chose him. I should have seen that Albert was not honest.”

“He may well have been a good candidate when you brought him in,” the King soothed. “It is not your fault. A spy who wishes to remain hidden behaves like a shadow, and Albert has done exactly that.”

The King paced the room. “For now, keep him out of the throne room. Keep him away from any real discussions. But he must not suspect we know. Give him tasks that keep him busy, but allow him to think he is still 'in the loop'.”

Thallian straightened. “I will keep him so busy he barely has time to breathe, sire. He will think he has been forgotten, buried in routine.”

“And Thallian,” Syldan added, his voice dropping. “Find out who he speaks to. He must have a way of passing messages to the town.”

“I will, sire. Clerks notice everything. Even when we pretend not to.”

King Syldan stood at the map table as Smike entered. The guards had been dismissed.

“We begin,” Syldan said. “Tizard is watching how we respond. So, we give him a response to watch.”

Smike folded his arms. “A false one.”

“Exactly. He expects us to panic. He expects us to send more men north.” Syldan dipped his quill into the ink. “We shall craft a message that looks like a genuine order. Something Albert will be desperate to steal.”

He began to write, speaking the words aloud:

‘To Captain Mylon: The situation in the north is deteriorating. Take your men and reinforce Tower Thirty-Eight at once. If the clans gather, withdraw. Do not engage. The Crown cannot risk open conflict.’

Smike raised an eyebrow. “That will make Tizard believe we are afraid. And he will think Mylon is still in the north, rather than waiting at Prince Mardan’s estate.”

“That is the point,” Syldan said. “And he will think we are preparing to send a large force away from the capital, leaving the palace unprotected.”

“Waiting is always the worst part of a campaign,” Smike muttered later that day. He had already left the first letter on Thallian’s desk, making sure Albert was close enough to see it.

“The first message will draw Tizard’s eyes north,” Syldan said. “Now, we give him something to pull him south. We make him believe he is about to lose Wilgan forever.”

He reached for a fresh sheet of parchment and wrote:

‘To Prince Mardan: Wilgan is to be moved to the capital for his own safety. Escort to depart within two days. Route to be determined by you. Maintain a decoy Wilgan at the estate to distract any watchers.’

“He will believe the escort is small and vulnerable,” Smike said with a grim smile. “And that he has only a narrow window to strike.”

Syldan finished the letter and placed it on the corner of his desk—the spot where drafts were always left for clerks to collect. Then, he struck a small silver bell.

A moment later, Albert entered. He bowed with the stiff politeness of a junior clerk.

“Take this to Chief Clerk Thallian,” Syldan said casually. “Tell him it is to be sealed and sent at once.”

Albert stepped forward and lifted the parchment. As he did, his eyes flicked across the lines. Wilgan is to be moved... escort to depart... discreet...

A tiny breath caught in Albert’s throat. Syldan pretended not to notice.

“Go on,” the King said mildly.

Albert bowed again, clutching the letter a little too tightly, and hurried out.

Just after dusk, Thallian returned to the King’s study. He looked both tired and vindicated. “Sire,” he said quietly. “We have confirmed it. Albert passed the message.”

Syldan set aside the map he’d been studying. “You saw him?”

“My trusted clerks watched from the shadows of the colonnade,” Thallian replied. “Albert didn't leave the grounds. He didn't have to. He went to the stables and handed a folded scrap of paper to one of the boys—young Tom, the one who runs errands for the kitchens.”

Smike leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “And the boy?”

“He tucked it into his boot and rode out toward the city gates five minutes later,” Thallian said. “He does it every day to collect supplies. No one ever thinks to search a stable boy's boots.”

Smike gave a low whistle. “So that’s how he does it. He doesn't need to leave the palace at all. He just hands it to someone 'beneath notice,' and once it's outside these walls, it could go anywhere.”

“Exactly,” Thallian said bitterly. “We never saw it because it looked like nothing at all. Just a boy going to market.”

Syldan’s expression hardened. “It’s a chain. Albert is only the first link. Once that note reaches the city, it will be passed from hand to hand until it reaches the mountains. A tavern, a trader, a shepherd... by the time it reaches Tizard, the trail will be stone cold.”

“A clever system,” Smike admitted. “No single person knows the whole route. If we caught the boy, he’d just say he was delivering a note for a friend. He probably doesn't even know what's written on it.”

“Which is why we won't catch him,” Syldan said, his voice cold. “Not yet. Let the message go. Let Tizard believe he has the prize. We will follow the chain only when we are ready to break it.”

“Did Albert see the false messages clearly?” Smike asked.

“He did,” Thallian replied. “He lingered over them longer than he meant to. Tizard will have the news by morning.”

Syldan stood by the window, looking out at the frost-covered gardens. “Good. Let the chain run one more time. Let Tizard take the bait.”

Smike leaned against the wall. “It’s a neat little web. Almost elegant.”

“It will be more elegant,” Syldan whispered, “when it closes.”