by Randy Nargi
Bander was about to protest, but he thought better of it. If these people wanted to put him up, he wasn’t going to argue about it.
“If you would be so kind, sir, as to relate to me just what happened out on the road.”
Bander spent the next several minutes recounting how he had found Phaler Jeigh’s steed and how it had led him to the bandits.
Gard Coverstone took everything in without showing a hint of emotion.
When Bander was done with the narrative, the steward nodded. “Thank you sir. I know the hour is late and you deserve some rest. I’ll show you out.”
The Ryden Arms was a much nicer inn than Bander usually frequented. The tavern below the inn had just closed for the night when he arrived, but after Bander mentioned that he had been sent by Gard Coverstone, one of the serving women escorted him to the common room and fetched Timon, who turned out to be the owner of the inn.
“The kitchen’s closed, I’m afraid,” Timon said. He was a tubby man whose red hair had turned mostly white. “But Peta can bring out a plate of cold sausage and bread, if you like. We’re just arranging things now. Had to move a few people around, but we’ll have your room ready presently.”
“Don’t go through any trouble. I’d be happy to sleep in the stables,” Bander said.
“Nonsense. Any friend of the Jeighs is a friend of the Ryden’s.” He left the room and Bander waited in silence.
But Timon was true to his word. The serving woman brought Bander a plate heaped with food: sausages and bread, buttered beets, cold baked apples with cheese, and a flagon of ale. Bander was ravenous, and he tore into a hunk of bread while the serving woman was still setting out the rest of the food.
“My apologies, miss. It’s been a long day.”
She laughed lightly. “No matter, sir. I’m glad you are enjoying the meal. May I fetch you anything else?”
Bander swallowed a bite of sausage. “No, this is wonderful.”
“Very good, then. I’ll just be checking on your room, then.”
She turned to leave.
Bander said, “One more thing.”
“Yes, sir?”
“This is a bit embarrassing, but I’m afraid I don’t know much about my benefactors.”
“The Jeighs?”
“Yes.”
“You are not acquainted with them?”
“Not in the least. I did a good turn for Phaler Jeigh on the road.” Bander trailed off and shrugged. “And here I am.”
“Well, sir, the first thing you might want to know about the Jeighs is that they prefer that people don’t talk about them. Especially behind their backs.” With that, she departed—leaving Bander alone with his food.
He wasn’t about to complain. A good meal. A roof over his head. A night to rest his feet. But he was curious. Very curious.
And maybe that’s what Gard Coverstone was counting on.
Chapter Three
The next morning, Bander returned to the common room for a large breakfast of barley cakes, aebol, smoked fish, potatoes, and plenty of hot moxa.
Afterwards, Timon told Bander he was free to avail himself of the baths. They were out back in a separate building that connected to the inn via a covered walkway.
Bander took the innkeeper up on the offer and made his way to the bathhouse. It was a small square structure with four iron metal troughs filled with heated water that flowed in through copper pipes.
The attendant told Bander that the water ran behind the ovens in the bakery next door.
“Clever,” Bander said.
The bath house had all sorts of grooming implements available, including brushes, combs, and a shell scraper that did a decent job of removing the caked-on dirt from his skin. Once he was all done, Bander judged himself presentable enough to call upon the Jeighs.
In the light of day, the Prichard’s building was even more impressive, with a marble facade and elaborate ironwork ornaments running along either side of the low staircase that led up to the large green and gold painted front door. Unlike all the other establishments on Tayton Street—which sprouted good-sized signs from their walls noting the type of shop as well as the name—Prichard’s had no such advertisement. Instead, the front door was adorned with a discreet bronze plate bearing the name and a knocker which seemed like the smaller twin of the one Bander had seen on the back gate last night.
He knocked on the door and within moments it was opened by a liveried doorman.
“How may I help you sir?”
“Leocald Grannt to see Gard Coverstone.”
“Please, sir, come right in. Mr. Coverstone is expecting you.”
The doorman led Bander through a short hallway where two uniformed guards stood and then into a finely appointed reception room with high ceilings and wood-paneled walls. At the far end of the room another officious-looking man sat behind a sturdy linnaewood desk. He looked up from his ledger book as Bander and the doorman approached.
“Mr. Leocald Grannt for Mr. Coverstone,” the doorman announced.
The man behind the desk didn’t say a word, just waved half-heartedly towards a doorway behind the desk.
Following the doorman, Bander walked down a thickly carpeted corridor lit with large, expensive glowstones. The corridor took several turns before ending up in front of an open door leading to an office. Coverstone’s office, it turned out.
“Ah, Mr. Grannt. I trust the accommodations were to your liking.” Coverstone rose and clasped Bander’s hand.
“Very nice. Thank you again.”
“Our pleasure. Thank you for coming this morning. Melanthris Jeigh is taking her moxa in the garden room. She would like to thank you personally for the service you’ve done the family.”
Bander nodded. “I’m glad I was there to help. How is Phaler Jeigh?”
“His body has been healed as much as possible, however he suffered some head injuries which may take a week or so to recover from.”
Bander wasn’t surprised. Even the best healers can only do so much to bring a man back from death—or the brink of death. Still, Phaler Jeigh should count himself lucky. If he had been left for dead in the middle of nowhere, all the healers in the world might not have been able to help him.
“Mr. Coverstone, may I ask: what type of establishment is Prichard’s?”
The steward pursed his lips as if deciding whether to answer. But after a moment he said, “We deal in antiquities. Sometimes of a magical nature. Sometimes items valued purely by their aesthetics.”
“So, a rare goods shop?”
“Indeed. Many, actually.”
“Many?”
“There are several Pritchard’s offices in various towns and cities across the Empire.”
Bander couldn’t remember ever hearing the name Pritchard’s, but that didn’t mean much. Still, he wondered about where they obtained these rare goods. Twenty or thirty years ago, people like the Jeighs would hire adventurers like Bander to explore delvings or ancient fanes to recover rare artifacts. But all the sites had long since been picked bare and these days the Guild closely monitored the trade in these types of goods.
“Mistress Jeigh awaits,” Coverstone said, motioning to the door.
As they walked through the first floor of the building, Bander saw at least a dozen workers of various kinds, from maids to footmen to guards. This was some enterprise.
The garden room was on the south end of the building, up a flight of stairs. It was a long space adorned with a great variety of potted plants and flowers, most on free-standing pedestals and racks. The far wall was filled with tall windows which let a great amount of light in. Standing beside one of the windows, peering out on the park below, was a tall woman with silvery white hair. At the sound of Bander and Coverstone’s entrance, she turned and stared at them with pale blue eyes.
“Mistress Melanthris Jeigh, may I present Mr. Leocald Grannt.”
She took a few steps forward and Bander entered the room to meet her. He tilted his head sligh
tly, and she held out her arms as if to embrace him.
“My dear Mr. Grannt!”
Melanthris Jeigh took both of his hands and stared into his eyes. She had proud features which seemed like they were hewn from stone. “Thank you for the service you have done our family.” After a moment, she released his hands and motioned to a cluster of overstuffed chairs near one of the large windows. “Please sit with me. Some moxa?”
Bander never refused moxa. Especially when he was in the Southern cities where the roasting and blending of the seeds was considered an art.
As they sat, Gard Coverstone served Bander some moxa in a fine ceramic cup and then bowed to Melanthris Jeigh and took his leave.
Melanthris Jeigh asked the usual questions and Bander told the usual lies. After 22 years as the Imperial Investigator, he had made a lot of enemies—most of whom didn’t care that he was now retired.
So he told his typical tale of being a retired sellsword from Rundlun traveling to Vale to visit relatives.
“And what of your own horse?” she asked. “Torquin said you brought ours back, but you yourself were on foot.”
“Yes, madam. Horses and I tend not to get along well, so I typically travel by foot. But I must say that the Valer was the true hero in this unfortunate incident.”
Bander went on to describe how the steed had led him to the bandits.
“Still, three against one—”
“As I told Mr. Coverstone, the Valer did most of the work. He can be very intimidating.”
“You’re correct about that, Mr. Grannt.”
They sat and drank moxa and chatted. It was all very civilized. After twenty minutes or so, Melanthris Jeigh rose and Bander knew the audience was over. But the older woman had something else in mind.
She escorted him to a doorway on the lower level which was guarded by one of the uniformed men Bander had seen when he first entered Prichard’s. The guard bowed to Melanthris Jeigh and opened the door.
Inside was a small windowless workroom with a table in the center. On the table was a tall silver candelabra, and a rolled leather bag. Set around the perimeter of the room were shelves filled with all manner of cases, boxes, jars, and other containers.
“What’s this?” Bander asked.
“This is where you choose your reward.”
Bander took a step back. He was not expecting a reward, and he told Melanthris Jeigh so.
“Mr. Grannt, we have a few rules in our family—rules that have been obeyed for generations. One is that we always reward a good turn.”
“Your thanks are more than enough for me.”
“Be that as it may, good words are not enough for us.” For emphasis, she tapped the table with one long painted fingernail. “A Jeigh is never in debt. It’s simply not done. And because my brother is incapacitated, it falls upon me to bestow your reward.”
She untied the bag with steady hands and unrolled it. “This was hidden in Arran’s saddle.”
Bander leaned in, curious about the contents.
Melanthris Jeigh said, “My brother was transporting this from our office in Whill. The lot was acquired from a man who used to work at Delham.”
Bander raised one eyebrow. Delham University was where the Guild trained its mages.
There on the leather were at least a dozen gems and items of jewelry. Most looked very old and Bander saw a lot of tarnished silver and gold.
“Before you get too excited, I should say everything here was evaluated in Whill and none of the pieces are magical in nature,” Melanthris Jeigh said. “But most are extremely valuable. I’d pick the tarfet myself, but you are free to choose any single item as your reward.”
“You’re serious?”
“Quite serious.”
“May I ask a question?”
“Of course.”
Bander said, “My understanding is that Prichard’s deals in rare goods.”
“That’s not a question. It’s a fact.”
“Yes, of course. The thing I am curious about is, if these items are so valuable, why take the chance transporting them? Especially with one rider and one guard? That seems like a considerable risk. Why not just keep the inventory at your local office?”
Melanthris Jeigh shrugged. “Sometimes the acquisition of our inventory is not completely clear cut. To everyone involved that is.”
“What do you mean?”
“We often buy out the estates of the recently deceased. Of course, we make a considerable effort to ensure that we are dealing with the legal owner of the goods in question. However…” She trailed off.
It became clear to Bander. “You don’t want relatives coming out of the woodwork laying claim to the goods you just acquired.”
“Exactly. We work hard to establish provenance and legal ownership, but still it’s best to avoid—shall we say—local complications.”
It made perfect sense.
Melanthris Jeigh smiled at him. “You have a curious mind, Mr. Grannt.”
“I always have.”
“An admirable trait. I suppose you have another question to ask me.”
“Oh?”
“Don’t be bashful, man. We’d be happy to take you on.”
“Are you talking about a job?”
“Of course.”
He smiled. “I don’t need a job. I’m retired.”
Her face fell. “Really? We are down one man.”
“I’m honored, but I must politely decline.”
Melanthris Jeigh stood up straight. “Well, our loss, I am afraid. You appear to be a very competent fellow.” She beckoned at the items on the table. “The thing you may not deny us is bestowing your reward. Make your choice, Leocald Grannt.”
Bander didn’t really need jewels or gems. Over the years he had amassed a sizeable fortune—most of which was cached in various places throughout his walking route. But he knew he would have to accept something on the table or seriously offend the Jeighs. And that was not something he was prepared to do.
His eyes moved from item to item. He saw the tarfet diamond. It was beautiful and expertly cut. Worth a quite a bit as well. Next was an amethyst ring set in tarnished gold. There were a half dozen uncut sapphires, a small cat figurine that looked like it had been carved out of pelidod, and another ring with a large ruby in the center and smaller emeralds along the band. Bander also saw a jeweled fob, a jade bracelet, and a small silver semi-circle pendant that looked like a piece of a necklace or an earring.
“May I take a closer look at that pendant?”
“Of course.”
The crescent-shaped pendant was only the size of his thumbnail and looked like it was made of polished silver with a bail on the top. As he studied it more carefully, Bander noticed that the back of the pendant was rougher and had a series of markings etched into it. His tired eyes couldn’t make out what the markings were, but they were definitely not just scratches. He turned it back over on its front and stared at it. By the light of the candelabra, the pendant looked like a little moon.
“I’ll take this one.” There was something about the crescent. He couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was though.
“Really? That’s probably the least valuable item on the table. Nothing more than a charm, really. Rather primitive workmanship.”
“I think it will be a lucky charm for me.”
“Perhaps it will be, Mr. Grannt. Please, take it with our gratitude.”
Chapter Four
As Bander left Prichard’s, he put the crescent pendant out of his mind. Whatever there was about it would eventually come to him. For now he needed to decide how he was going to make up the time he had lost with this detour to Gilweald.
It had been four years since Bander had retired as the Imperial Investigator in Rundlun and on this first day of the new year he found himself less than 150 miles away from the city where he had spent almost a quarter of a century.
He had been on his way to the capital because of the disturbing news about the new Empress A
rdara and her Viceroy Bryn Eresthar, who was an old friend of Bander’s. It seems Ardara was in the process of dismantling the Guild and tightening the Empire’s grip on the City-States—which made no sense.
Nine months ago Bander had fought alongside Bryn Eresthar, Hirbo Thrang, Silbra Dal, and others against Lord Governor Asryn, crime lord Gredarl Kar, dark mage Morin of Thect, and several of the Imperial Magisters. These conspirators had attempted to undermine and destroy the Mage Guild and those in the Imperial government who supported it. Even though some of the villains had been ferreted out and dealt with, the Empire was left in shambles and rumors persisted of dark forces lurking in the periphery.
With the support of Bander’s friend, the Imperial Spymaster Etthar Calain, a powerful and mysterious woman named Lady Ardara had formed something called the League. She recruited Bander’s team to her cause and to battle the forces of chaos who would destroy Harion.
Bander himself had opted not to join this League. He was done with adventuring and wished to live out the rest of his days on the open road, beholden to no one but himself. But still he was fascinated by how quickly Ardara wormed her way into power: first as the Emperor’s new wife and Imperial consort, and then—upon his recent death—Empress herself.
Ardara had quickly installed Bryn Eresthar as Viceroy and the two of them began quickly instituting dramatic changes—including sanctions against the Guild and the first steps towards dissolving the institution. Which, ironically, is what Asryn and his conspirators had been striving for.
Now Bander was on his way to Rundlun to speak to Bryn Eresthar and hear from the horse’s mouth what in Dynark’s name was going on.
If he marched quickly, Bander thought he might be able to get to the capital in four long days. The road between Gilweald and Rundlun was the Northway, a well-maintained Imperial highway that ran along the Meredel from Laketon to Rundlun. The Northway was flat and wide and if you could avoid all the wagons and caravans, you could make excellent time. His other option was to take a portal from Gilweald directly to Rundlun, but Bander discarded that option almost immediately. Beyond the exorbitant cost, Bander was mindful of his recent bout of portal sickness, an affliction that might turn out to be fatal—according to Wegg the healer.
