The Warder

by D K Williamson

  “I am Sir Dech.”

  “That’s it? Nothing else? No, ‘I’m Sir Dech of Latrine, knighted for sycophancy and heir to the county when dear old sire dies?’”

  Dech kept himself from smiling. “Contrition knights carry a given name and no more save for rank.”

  “Ah, I recall that now. Silly practice if you ask me, losing your name. Changing one’s name changes a person? That’s not one of your questions I must presume.”

  “It’s not. Do you have knowledge of a magical form called derkunblod?”

  Granum shifted his attention from the heating water and leaned over the counter dividing the kitchen-alchemy lab and the seating area where Dech stood. “Odd. Most odd. Derkunblod you say? Hadn’t even thought on the subject in years until my friend Andre arrived here not long ago querying me about it. That would be Andre Fillister, a mage and advisor to King… whatever his name is. Quite a nice fellow, Andre.”

  “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad tidings, but Fillister was murdered very recently.”

  Granum’s face tensed in displeasure. “Why would one murder Andre? Was it some of those mages on the council? So many of them are petty and jealous sorts.”

  “It seems assassins in the hire of Malig Tancar and Olk Mirkness murdered him because of his knowledge or inquisitiveness about—”

  “Derkunblod,” Granum said sullenly. “Coincidences generally mean something. He mentioned Olk in passing when he was here. Murdered, that is simply wretched. Andre was one of the few within the magic establishments that thought me worth listening to. He needed a tome I possessed and had little use for, the Cataclysma, an old work. Insisted on paying me handsomely for it. Andre’s ability to sense other mages was always keen, even at distance. Where is Mirkness now?”

  “He was seen recently in Byrmont near the border. Malig is reported to be headed west toward Megium and Destria. If Mirkness is still with him, that’s where he’d be.”

  “Is Malig still mad?”

  “Nothing indicates he’s not.”

  “Why is Olk with Malig?”

  “Malig seeks to regain the throne and the Grandmage is aiding him it seems.”

  “Bah! Royals and nobles and their idiotic plots and machinations. Bah, to mages’ titles as well! Why would Olk seek to help Malig after such a long absence. He disappeared long before Malig put on the crown.” Granum turned and lifted the pot from the flame. “He would have no interest in something that petty,” he said as he worked on the infusion. “‘It seems,’ you said. Malig’s cause must net him some boon.”

  “You knew Mirkness?” Dech asked. He caught the scent of bergamot and other appealing aromas he couldn’t identify.

  “Well enough. Met him a few times. As arrogant as any mage you’ve ever met. Most unpleasant.”

  “Did he have knowledge of derkunblod?”

  “None, or he would have used it I should think,” Granum said. He turned again and carried a tray with a small pot and two cups on it into the sitting area. “Sit. Or are contrition knights forbidden the pleasure?”

  “We’re not,” Dech said as he adjusted his scabbard before taking a seat in a comfortable chair.

  As Granum poured a dark, steaming, and aromatic liquid into the cups, he spoke. “Derkunblod was what killed Mirkness, well, nearly killed apparently. Had he knowledge of it, he might have countered Constance Taggart’s attacks. She seemingly possessed vast knowledge of it. Her destructive acts at Sintar led me to study it. A vile thing, derkunblod. Subtle and seductive, but carries a taint other mages should notice if they know what to look for. I studied it in depth, academically of course. Never practiced it. One must be cautious before stepping into the waters. It led to Taggart’s execution as I understand it. A shame, I heard she was able to disengage from it. Considering the temptation, turning her back on it was a feat, but that wasn’t enough to allow her to keep her head.”

  It came as a surprise to learn Dealan’s former identity. Dech’s face betrayed the fact.

  “Did you know her?” Granum asked. “Or were you at Sintar?”

  “You might say I knew her.”

  “Marvelously talented and strong-willed, but she had no one to rein in her pride when she was young. A shame, she seemed a genuinely decent person under all the arrogance. Still, the Gout exacts payment for drawing from it.”

  “The Gout?” Dech asked despite recalling the information Wace had related.

  “An ancient name for the source from which derkunblod draws from. A vile source, like drinking from a well soured by cadavers.”

  “It sounds as if you are highly knowledgeable on the subject.”

  “Yes, I suppose I am. I specialize in the obscure.” He gestured at his surroundings. “Such specialization has netted me these palatial halls in which to dwell.”

  Dech smiled. “Is Mirkness aware of your knowledge?”

  “I doubt the man would even remember me. I tried to discuss the merits of maggots in our last encounter, but he had no interest at all. My study of dark and blood magic came long after his supposed demise. Why, do you think I would be targeted if he knew?”

  “It seems there is a concerted effort to suppress anyone with knowledge if it and any documents concerning the subject.”

  “That’s deplorable. Was my copy of Cataclysma a casualty?”

  “A few pages torn from it, but it was the only piece Fillister possessed that survived.”

  “That is most odd. What is it you need to know?”

  “I am not qualified to ask. Will you travel to the Mage Council in Cruxford and present—”

  “When I last visited there, I was treated most rudely. I’ll not be subject to such abuse again.”

  “You won’t be. I know of two mages on the council that will treat you with respect. If—”

  “You weren’t listening. I meant no… as in I’ll not grace Cruxford with my presence under any circumstance.”

  Dech growled under his breath. “When Andre was here, did he mention his suspicion that Mirkness seeks to bring on the Fourth Cataclysm?”

  Granum’s eyes narrowed. “He did not. If there is one circumstance that might get me to travel to Cruxford, that would be it. I’ll consider it. How does derkunblod connect to this?”

  “That’s what we wish to discover.”

  “And who might be these mages you mentioned?”

  “Otis McGrew and Conway Wace.”

  “I’ve never heard of either of them. A point in their favor.” Granum looked out the window and sipped from his cup. Before long, he looked at Dech. “Fair enough. Let’s go… as soon as we finish our brew.”

  . . .

  Their departure was not quite as swift as Granum made it sound. The mage insisted on taking books, alchemical equipment, and prepared concoctions along. While he gathered these items, Dech saddled Granum’s mounts, a pair of mules in a small barn unseen from the front of the cottage. Introducing them to his own horses, there didn’t seem to be any issues.

  Dech loaded the items Granum wished to take. While not heavy, the bags and boxes were somewhat bulky and required some creativity to place them for a long trip.

  “You’ll be seeing me to Cruxford?” Granum asked as he closed the door to his cottage.

  “No. The King’s Legion will see you to Creator’s Rock and contrition knights will conduct you to the capital.”

  “The Fortress of the Order? Always wished to step inside its walls.”

  “Then that wish will be realized. Is there someone that might watch your cottage while you’re gone?”

  Granum laughed. “I’ve already seen to it. Wards raised. As long as I live, it will be secure. Should I die, what will I care if someone steals from my former abode. Anyone who might try prior to my demise will regret doing so.”

  “Do I want to know what these wards are?”

  “I could expound, but I suspect you’d be lost rather quickly. They consist of nothing lethal or permanent. There would be no regret on the part of interlopers ot
herwise.”

  Dech shook his head. “Fair enough. Shall we?”

  The men took to their saddles and made for Croton.

  The warder noticed Granum’s riding style was not one that would serve him well on a journey of much length.

  “Have you traveled by horse or mule much?” he asked.

  “Often enough to know I am a terrible rider, but I am quite the mage,” he said in a tone that expressed pleasure. “I’ll survive quite handily.”

  The short trip to town took little time and as they rode toward the King’s Legion post, many stopped to watch them pass. Many glared while others gave hurrahs at the prospect of the Contrition Order taking the mage into custody.

  “You have quite an effect on people here,” Dech commented.

  “An explosion or two. A ruptured herd of livestock. A few other minor incidents. That’s all it takes to find yourself asked to live apart from the masses. Ah, better I live where I do and a respite from these people might do me good.”

  “Is it true you made the sky rain rats?”

  “Not in the slightest. I conjured a handful above a trio of men who sought unwelcomed entry into my home when I lived here. Rain? Hardly.” A smile spread across his face as he recalled the incident. “They were rather large rats.”

  The two dismounted at the King’s Legion post and Dech arranged an escort of two legionnaires for Granum in exchange for a small amount of coin before he recovered Otto from the stable.

  Alderman Calen stormed in as Dech prepared to depart.

  “They say you’re taking Granum into custody? On what offense?”

  Granum smiled and said, “It’s not as bad as—”

  “I’ll see you freed or the baron shall hear about this!” Calen barked. “And what does the order need with Granum?”

  “The order and King’s Legion is seeing me to the Mage Council in Cruxford. I predict my stay will be a short one, but it is a journey I must make.”

  Calen calmed and grunted. “Even so, what of my… the concoction you create for me.”

  “I’ve prepared enough to see you to the end of the year in case my absence is lengthy, alderman. I am dangerous and irresponsible, not forgetful.”

  As Granum dug into a bag draped over his shoulder, Calen looked at Dech.

  “It’s a wellness issue. Not a thing to have detrimental effects on my duties to the city.”

  “A young wife, aging alderman…” Granum said as he presented a large brown bottle to Calen. “At times a bit of help is in order to preserve connubial bliss.”

  The alderman shrugged and smiled. “I told you, he is quite a passable alchemist.”

  . . .

  Chapter 14

  There was still time in the day for Dech and his mounts to put in a couple more hours on the road, so after seeing Granum off, he was gone soon after and made camp before dark.

  The town of Linsey was about a day’s ride from Croton and after packing up his spare camp, he arrived just after midday. Linsey was the home of Amelia Fallon, the arcane scholar who had died in an apparent accident. Wace had mentioned her first during their trip from Fillister’s tower and again in the notes provided at Dech’s departure from Cruxford.

  Home to a small mage academy, several tanneries, and host to a grand market four times a year, Linsey was a bustling, if pungent, town. The arcane library was part of the academy and as Dech found soon after entering the building, Fallon was one of the curators of the works stored there.

  “Why is the contrition order interested in Amelia’s work?” the mage overseeing the library asked. “She was not a mage of any talent,” he said, “though her research skills made her of immense value to our small academy. She was well regarded throughout the Southerlies.”

  “I am not here on—”

  “If this is a religious issue, I’ll need the head of the academy to permit this.”

  “I am not here on church business. The king charged me with a task and investigating Amelia Fallon’s death is a portion of that task.” He presented the authorizations bearing the king’s seal.

  The man paled as he read. “The head of the academy should be made aware of this,” he said as he passed the document back to the warder.

  The man left quickly and within a few minutes returned with an angry white-haired woman in tow.

  “Amelia’s death is of interest to the king?” she asked without introduction. “She died in a riding accident.”

  “Was she an experienced rider?” Dech asked.

  “Able enough. She did not ride for enjoyment, but did so regularly as need required. Why is this of interest?”

  “It seems mages and scholars within Arataine and neighboring territories have been targeted and killed in the last week. It is possible Amelia was one of these.”

  “Why?” the man asked.

  “That is what I am trying to discover.”

  “Amelia fell from her horse in the stable area. She was discovered early in the morning with a contusion upon her head, her saddled horse walking freely within the enclosure. Healers were summoned, but she had already passed,” the academy head replied.

  Dech nodded. “Was Amelia known to be going somewhere that day?”

  The academy head looked at the other mage who shrugged. “I do not know. Perhaps you might inquire of novitiates Harlin and Michaels. They assisted Amelia with her research. Adam here can take you to them. I do not like disruptions within my academy, king’s orders or not. Conclude your business and depart, sir knight. As soon as possible.”

  The moment the academy head left the library, the mage Adam said, “If Amelia was murdered, might the killers return?”

  “I doubt it. If it was in fact a murder and she was killed for a particular reason, the killer or killers would have eliminated any and all where that reason applied.”

  Adam nodded. “Her quarters have yet to be attended to. Might that be of interest? I’ll locate her assistants and bring them while you… do whatever you need to do.”

  . . .

  Dech began his search with distaste, the act of sifting through the belongings of another person, deceased or not, always felt like a violation to him.

  Amelia possessed a sparse wardrobe, mostly undergarments and the robes mages commonly wore. Two brimmed hats and a blue and white cloak hung from a pegboard on a wall. He delayed moving anything on her desk, table, and bookshelves until the novitiates arrived.

  His wait was a short one, the two mages, a man and a woman in their early twenties, soon appeared with nervous demeanors and uncomfortable looks on their faces.

  “We’re not suspect in Amelia’s death, are we?” the man called Harlin asked.

  “You are not,” Dech replied calmly. “The identity of Amelia’s killer is less important than why at this point. If she was murdered, whoever did it is far gone by now.”

  The two seemed to relax at the warder’s answer.

  “What do you require of us?” Harlin asked.

  “You knew her and her research, at least to a degree, yes?”

  The pair nodded.

  “Can you look at the articles here and see if anything seems missing or out of place?”

  Dech stepped aside and the pair moved past him to examine the workspace.

  “Numerous volumes are absent from her desk,” Michaels said pointing at the cluttered surface.

  Harlin nodded in agreement. “And of the works that are here, the order in which they are arranged is not as Amelia kept them.”

  “Can you recall the titles of the missing volumes?”

  “Some of them, perhaps all,” Michaels said. “They were works of history mostly, not occult or instructional volumes.”

  Dech nodded. “Could you write down the titles you do recall?”

  She nodded and picked up a small stack of books from the desktop and looked for a place to deposit them in order to provide room to write.

  “I’ll hold them,” Dech said.

  Using a quill and inkhorn from the de
sk, the mage began writing. As she did, Harlin scanned the bookshelf next to the desk while Dech flipped through the books in his hands. The volume at the bottom of the stack was not a book at all, but a ledger. Opening it, the warder discovered Fallon had been using it as a journal with notes going back nearly half a year. Scanning the pages, it took little time before he came across something that caught his attention, the word derkunblod.

  Knowing Wace and McGrew would want to see Fallon’s notes, he tucked the ledger under his left arm and noticed Harlin standing after examining the lowest shelves in the case.

  “Anything amiss?” Dech asked.

  “Nothing as far as I can tell.”

  “Did Amelia correspond with other scholars?”

  “She did,” Michaels said with a quick glance Dech’s way.

  “Would you add those she corresponded with to the list along with their locations?”

  Michaels nodded.

  “Did you see Amelia after her apparent fall?”

  “We did,” Michaels replied as she continued to scroll ink across paper.

  “Did she mention a trip to you?”

  “No,” Michaels said as Harlin shook his head.

  “Usually she would tell us when she would be gone,” Harlin added, “though not always.”

  “On her journeys, did she usually take materials with her? Books, scrolls, food, clothing, or other items?”

  “She would,” Michaels replied as she set the quill aside. “She acquired a courier’s pouch several years ago that she used.”

  “Do you know what she had with her for the last trip?”

  The mages looked at one another and shook their heads.

  “She didn’t have the pouch,” Harlin said. “It’s not here either. It hung on the pegboard there beside the cloak.”

  “Who found her that morning?” Dech asked after a glance at the pegs.

  “Berle did. He works here repairing and building things. Tends the horses and stable as well.”

  “Where might I find Berle?”

  “He might be anywhere, but the area around the stable would be the best place to start. You’ll be able to recognize him easily. He’s no taller than my shoulders but nearly as wide as he is tall. Part dwarvan they say.”