by Alex Lang
And here it was, the question he had been expecting and dreading. Was the question a test? Had he already failed? If so, it was too late to do anything about it now. He couldn’t admit to leaving a relic out. “I believe so.” Kyris went on to relate the theft—where he had found the relics, how there had been no more within the vault.
Caldir nodded. “I suppose it would be unlikely they had more secured elsewhere. Job well done.”
Kyris felt a surge of relief. Although, he realized now it was a mistake to have kept the spear from Caldir. Not for any break of trust, but because it jeopardized the payment he had yet to receive. This had been pure folly, all because he couldn’t stand to surrender a weapon—granted the only one ever to be effective against the wraiths.
Caldir consulted the notebook again and muttered to himself, “Very interesting.”
“I thought you had no knowledge of what relics the artificers had?”
“Given what I see here before me, I believe I understand the cipher Gilvys used. Simple symbols used to denote the proper users of the relics.”
Kyris tried to appear casual as he asked, “Proper users?
Caldir kept his eyes on the relics and didn’t reply, and Kyris wondered if he should press further or let the subject go. Caldir finally looked up, meeting his gaze, and smiled. Kyris got the impression that something had been decided.
“Yes, this is a very interesting collection of relics you have brought me,” Caldir gestured. “This here is a Skaveel dagger. That, an amulet from the conquered people of Malfin. And this,” holding up a figurine of a spider, “well, I’m not quite sure… yet.”
Kyris returned a blank stare.
“As I had stated before, none of these relics are of the Tesrini.” Caldir said the last with a dismissive twirl of his hand. “The Imperium would not destroy their own relics.”
“Then who made these?” Kyris gestured.
“Well, yes, that is an intriguing question, isn’t it? Skaveel. The Reapers of Malfin. All nightspawn, the Path have said. It would seem the Tesrini gods were not the only ones who were… crafty.” Caldir said everything with a certain levity, as if it was all some grand jest.
“So, there are nightspawn relics and the Path kept this a secret?”
“Yes, one big secret, but it is a bit more complicated than that if you follow the thread all the way to the end. If you ask yourself the right questions…”
Kyris felt as if Caldir was speaking from far away, down a long tunnel. The Night Mother also crafted relics for her children. And the spear was just another one among them. Why was this a surprise? Hadn’t he known since that day? He was a nightspawn. He supposed he’d always harbored some doubt. The hatred from the wraiths had always baffled him, but perhaps there was no kinship among the foul.
“Kyris? Have I lulled you with my lecture?”
“Hmmm? Yes. I mean, no.”
Caldir glanced over the displayed items on the table and down at the ledger again. “Well, I must say, this was a productive night. Between your success and Ellse’s, I dare say the artificers are feeling rather sore right about now.”
“Ellse?”
“Oh, yes, I sent her band against another building where the ledger indicated relics were being stored. I figured there was only one chance to strike before they would become aware that their secrets were compromised.”
“I see.”
Caldir picked up and studied the spider figurine for some time. Kyris stood there, lost in his own thoughts.
“Oh, my apologies, Kyris. I do get engrossed when it comes to these things. You do not need to stay. Again, a job well done. I have already taken steps to locate the individual you seek, and I will have some news concerning the progress of the search for you tomorrow. I am confident the results will be positive, and there would be no need to make contact with the Whisperer.”
“Of course.” He nodded numbly to Adar in departing. This was great news, and yet he felt out of sorts. It wasn’t until on the long walk back to his lodgings that it occurred to Kyris; just how would Caldir put nightspawn relics to use?
“Lord Governor Velledon, thank you for seeing us,” High Seer Lyra said.
The woman was dressed in the traditional gray robes of the Seers of Rumathil, with intricately stitched golden symbols that covered her shoulders like a mantle. They denoted her standing within their order as one of the three High Seers. Crone, like Rumathil’s byname, was an apt description of the woman. Stooped posture, wrinkled and haggard face, hands that were mere bones covered in thin, wet parchment. It was hard to believe that she was the youngest of the three. The other two must be walking corpses, he thought. There was only so much the menders could do.
The ostentatiously dressed, dark-haired woman standing next to the High Seer looked a new-born fawn in comparison, though in truth she was more likely in her middling years. She had beautiful, if slightly hard features, without a trace of gray in her hair. The white-feathered mantle she wore marked her Kalaan, but he did not know which house. It was so hard to keep track.
“High Seer Lyra and…” Velledon started.
“Daratrine, Matriarch of House Curunir, a member of the Sartis league of merchants,” the Kalaan offered. “It is an honor to meet you, Lord Governor.”
Velledon tilted his head in acknowledgment, then turned towards the seer. “I am afraid you have caught me at a bad time, High Seer. You will forgive me if we skip the pleasantries. Your missive stated you had urgent news for me?” Even as he said this, Velledon glanced at the clock against the wall, then to each woman in turn.
The two women shared a look before High Seer Lyra spoke. “Well, this is a rather unusual situation. Last night, at the artificer facility in Hammerfell—”
“You know something of what occurred?” He had only found out about the theft this morning.
“Did something happen?” High Seer Lyra asked.
Her confusion gave him pause. “Please continue.”
“Yes, as I was saying, at the Hammerfell facility, I had two seers present conducting the first use of the viewing jars at the request of your man, Gilvys.”
“Yes, yes, several of the jars were positioned throughout the facility, but they seem to require more work.”
“How do you mean?” Lyra asked.
Velledon hesitated. High Seer Lyra sat upon the Artificers of Falduin council, but he knew nothing of the Curunir woman. He would have to be vague.
“A theft occurred at the facility last night. A minor incident, but the jars failed to detect the thief.”
Again the two women shared a look. Velledon was quickly losing his patience.
“Well, that is not precisely correct,” High Seer Lyra said flatly, her back stiffening and chin jutting out. “One of the seers did witness an individual whom she believes to be the perpetrator of the theft.”
“What? They saw the thief? And yet no one was notified?”
Lyra glanced to her companion, then back at him. “The thief from the artificer compound is the same individual the sisterhood was employed to locate for Matron Daratrine.”
His own confusion must have been evident, as the matron chimed in, “Your thief is also an assassin. He killed my son and grandson less than a fortnight ago.”
He didn’t see how that information applied. Bewilderment was turning to anger.
“And as you know,” High Seer Lyra started, “by our order’s tenets, we do not reveal any information concerning the work we do with other clients. So the seer who bore witness to the thief had to confer with me first, and I with Matron Daratrine.”
“I am lord governor of Vigil. You sit on the artificer’s council. The thief not only stole from me but you, as well.”
“That as it may be—”
“You let the thief get away because you were already looking for him? Do I understand this correctly?” Velledon was livid.
Lyra glared at him. “We did not let him get away. It is not our job to apprehend,” she stated, but the
n her gaze fell and she seemed hesitant. “There is another reason why this was not immediately reported. The validity of the sighting was in question.”
“And why was that?”
“Two reasons. One, the thief was thought to have drowned.”
“What?”
“We thought the man dead. Jumped off a bridge and drowned in the Ryles.”
Velledon held his hand to his forehead. He should have these two hags drowned in the Ryles for this, he thought. He wanted to rage. The relics were provided by the Path, and they had to be accounted for when the auditors arrived later this week. The Path would not believe the relics were stolen, and if they did, the repercussions might actually be worse.
He looked up suddenly. “Wait, what did you say? Drowned in the Ryles?”
“Yes, our seers witnessed the man falling off Hawker’s bridge into the Ryles, and he did not resurface. We had assumed him dead. We were incorrect.”
Curiosity reigned back his anger. “When was this?”
“A week ago.”
“Did this man steal something? A satchel?”
“We do not know exactly what he did. He was being chased, and in his attempts to get away, he fell into the river.”
This could not be a coincidence. His mysterious adversary had somehow obtained the contents of Gilvys’ ledgers and journals. “Do you know where the thief is now?”
The women shared another look, then Lyra answered. “No. The previous sightings of the man have been in the districts near Forger’s gate.”
“My men are roaming the streets of those districts with Lyra’s seers as we speak,” the matron said. “Lord Governor Velledon, when I found out that you also sought this assassin, I urged Lyra to arrange this meeting.”
By the slight twitch of the High Seer’s eye, Velledon wasn’t sure if that was how things had occurred.
“My house and I wish to extend our aid in the apprehension of this vile criminal, and I ask, after he has been captured and you are done with him, that he be handed over to me. I assure you, proper punishment will be rendered.”
“And why would I require your aid?”
The matron returned a tight smile. “Of course, Lord Governor, forgive my presumptuousness. Although, I have some suggestions that may help in locating the assassin sooner rather than later.”
“And you would withhold these suggestions unless you are involved?” he asked, his voice thick with threat.
The matron acknowledged his words with a tilt of her head.
Any other time, he would have this audacious woman flogged, but really, what harm would her involvement be? In truth, he had heard some interesting things concerning House Curunir.
“There is one more thing,” High Seer Lyra cut in. “As I mentioned. The second reason for the delay in notifying you was that the thief demonstrated quite a unique… ability that further put into question what was witnessed. But having verified it myself, I can attest that the sighting was true, and that there was no fault in the seer’s vision, nor the viewing jar."
“What was this ability?”
“Is that Overseer Tharin?” Treven said.
Mannahar pulled his gaze from the campfire and, seeing it was in fact the overseer of the huntsman camp approaching on horseback along with a group of armsmen in tow, stood to receive the man.
After that night on the bridge and the ambush, they had returned to the warehouse in Dockside, where the hounds had picked up the scent of the assassin. However, after following many trails, it became obvious they were all false, purposely set to mislead. They had wasted a week chasing shadows and since languished at camp.
Why was it that Tharin would pay them a visit now? Pran was dead but surely that was of little concern for the overseer.
“Greetings, Mannahar,” the overseer called, pulling his striped yara to a stop.
“Overseer.” He bowed. Tharin was a tall man, equal to Mannahar but of slighter build. Mannahar knew well enough not to underestimate him, though.
“It seems your latest contract has attracted some interest. Your presence is requested at the keep.”
“And you came personally to escort me?”
Tharin smiled in reply. “Come, we shouldn’t keep our guest waiting. And you will inform me of what you’ve been up to that would draw the attention of the lord governor.”
A short ride later, Mannahar found himself standing in front of a rather unusual gathering.
Given Tharin’s words, he had expected the lord governor with some guardsmen, but not the group before him. A man clad fully in armor so that not a speck of flesh showed, like a living statue, towered over those seated behind a long table. Matron Daratrine was present, seated to his left. She gave him a disdainful frown, no doubt, still blaming him for not capturing the assassin. An old woman, a seer by her robes, was to his right. In the middle seat was a fair-haired highborn attired in immaculate white robes delicately embroidered with gold thread, his neck encircled by a crimson collar—the Lord Governor Velledon, he assumed. The head of the High Council, but all knew the Path and the archon truly ruled in Tesrin, Mannahar told himself, to soothe some of the unease. The man appeared more a scholar than anything else. There was a fourth man, nondescript and bespectacled, sitting off to the side at a small table with an open journal. A scribe to keep accounts?
“Lord Governor Velledon,” Tharin said from behind as he came in the room. “This is Mannahar. One of our best huntsmen.”
“Have a seat,” the lord governor said, indicating the chair positioned across from the group. “I am told you may have some information that can help in the pursuit of this… assassin.”
Mannahar’s eyes darted to the matron, then back to the governor. He had said all there was to say to the woman already. Did they wish him to repeat himself?“Perhaps. My lord,” he added as an afterthought.
“Well then, please enlighten us.”
As his hesitation, the matron spoke up. “Relate for us the night you failed in your task to apprehend the assassin.”
Mannahar bristled at her tone, at the whole situation. They’d had no better fortune in finding the assassin and were now grasping, hoping he could provide something. And failing that, he would no doubt be blamed and punished. He repeated the events of that night, though an even more truncated account than the one he had given the matron. There was no mention of the child in either version.
He told of how they’d followed the killer through the Old City to eventually be challenged by a large gang of street toughs, allies and comrades of the assassin. Having plenty of time to think on that night, he told those gathered that he was certain the assassin was part of this larger group, part of some guild of criminals. He might have even insinuated that if this information had been made clear to him beforehand, then he would have been properly prepared.
When he was done, the lord governor seemed to consider his words. “Is that all? You have nothing more to add?”
“No, your lordship.” What more was there?
“Very well.” The man nodded to the seer. “Seer Lyra, you may proceed with the ritual.”
Two guardsmen seized him from behind, grabbing a shoulder each, and pulled him up onto his feet.
“Wait, what is this?” Mannahar glanced around frantically, and it seemed Tharin was as surprised as he by the turn of events.
“Lord Governor?” Tharin said.
“Since your man here was not able to tell us anything helpful, we will see if the seers can glean something of use from his mind.”
Mannahar tensed at that. Seer probing could have lasting damage, he knew. “Wait, wait. There must be more I can tell you,” he pleaded.
“Huntsman,” the matron said, “when you related your tale to me, there seemed to be more details. Something concerning a warehouse.”
“Yes, yes. We tracked the assassin to a warehouse in Dockside, and an inn in Old City after that.”
The governor nodded to the scribe who wrote notes within the journal.
> But the guardsmen continued to pull at him.
Mannahar scrambled for more specifics. “There were others. Leaders of the gang. Caldir was the name of one. And the other was Jo… Josom.”
They turned him around and was escorting him towards the door. He would not be led away to be slaughtered like some animal. Once they were outside, he would attack the guards and let Shar decide his fate.
“Wait,” the governor’s voice commanded.
The guardsmen allowed Mannahar to turn back to the group.
Lord Governor Velledon had a hand up as the scribe whispered in his ear. “What was that name again? The leader of the gang you mentioned.”
“Josom?”
“No, the other one.”
“Caldir!”
“You are sure?”
“Yes.” Mannahar had committed that name to memory.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
A light rain pattered against the roof of the carriage as it ambled down the street in no great rush. The interior was lavishly decorated; expensive fabric draped the windows, and all the surfaces were plushly cushioned. Caldir had insisted on providing the luxury transport.
They were en route to a dinner, a celebration. For the occasion, Caldir had gifted them new garments. Kyris wore a dark gray long-coat trimmed with silver thread over a lighter gray tunic and trousers. Around his waist was an umber-colored sash. The shoes accompanying the outfit had been inappropriate for anything other than standing, so Kyris had donned his familiar worn boots.All said, the clothing was well-tailored and thankfully, not too ostentatious.
Tasi wore a kaftan of forest green silk that contrasted well with her golden hair, and Jahna was dressed in a deep blue sheath gown with a matching embroidered veil. Caldir had not missed that detail.
They rode in silence, not speaking since they’d embarked, but this was not a reflection of all of their moods. Tasi, at least, was looking forward to it. That was understandable, Kyris thought. When was the last time they had done something of this nature? Attend a party… had they ever? What kind of life had he and Jahna saddled her with? They had grown up together, she was family in all ways but blood, and this was how he’d repaid Baaz’s generosity? Kyris’ quest was not hers, nor did she need to sacrifice her life and future for it. Soon, this would be done, and with the money saved by not having to entreat the Whisperer, they could live well for some time. They could hire someone to help at home. Tasi would no longer need to be an attendant to Jahna and could simply be a sister to her. He’d make it up to her and Jahna when this was over.
