01 - Day of the Daemon

by Aaron Rosenberg - (ebook by Undead)

  “Something the witch hunters would kill for,” Alaric replied, thinking. Finally he drained his ale cup and stood. “I think we should pay a visit to this house you found. Let’s ask Fastred, or whoever answers the door, what they are doing up so very late, especially when there’s a military curfew.”

  “You think he’ll answer?” Dietz asked, standing as well and lengthening his stride to keep up with Alaric, who had navigated past several other patrons and was already at the inn’s front door.

  “He might,” Alaric answered. “He might feel it’s too late for anyone to stop him. Or he might have an overwhelming urge to tell someone, anyone, what he’s done.” He grinned at Dietz. “Much as you said to me some time back � I’d wind up lecturing about anything before too long, just because I hate the quiet.”

  “He’d be a fool to admit to anything,” Dietz said quietly, quiet enough that only he and Alaric heard it, “but that doesn’t mean he won’t.”

  The street was silent and empty when Dietz finally led Alaric to the correct row—houses, he’d discovered on the way here, look a lot more alike in the dark, but at last they were standing across from the door Fastred had entered.

  “That’s it,” he confirmed. “I remember this stone on this building here, the one shaped like a foot.” They both glanced up at the house beside them, at the footprint-like stone nestled among the other stones of the wall. “I watched from here as he walked up—crept up, more like—and knocked. Then the door opened and he stepped inside.”

  “Shall we?” Alaric asked with a bow, and once again Dietz followed his employer as they crossed the street and walked right up to the battered wooden door.

  Alaric raised his hand to knock, but Dietz caught it before his knuckles made contact with the wood. “Listen,” he hissed, and they both froze.

  Someone inside the house was awake. Not just awake, but shouting. They heard arguing, though they could not make out the words through the heavy stone and thick wood.

  “Trouble among thieves?” Alaric suggested lightly, one hand coming to rest on his rapier hilt. Dietz nodded, drawing a long knife with one hand while the other tugged open his jacket. Glouste took the hint and leaped inside.

  “What now?” Dietz asked his employer after his pet was safely stowed. “Fetch the city guards? Summon the witch hunters?”

  Alaric frowned. “The guard will take too long,” he pointed out, “and the witch hunters will arrest us along with whoever’s within. Besides, we’ve no certainty one or both are not involved already. No, let’s confront whoever’s inside ourselves and see what we shall see. We can send for help later if necessary.” He tried the door, but shook his head. “Locked.” Then he stepped aside and gestured towards it with a mocking bow. “Will you do the honours?”

  Dietz growled at him and stepped forward, knife in hand. The door was solid and the lock secure, but his brothers had taught him many tricks over the years and entering without a key had been one of them. Inserting the knife’s tip into the keyhole, Dietz felt around, feeling the tumblers pressing against his blade. When he was sure the knife was in position he jiggled it slightly, feeling as much as hearing the faint click of the tumblers falling into place. Withdrawing the knife he turned the knob and pushed gently. Despite its battered exterior the door was well-oiled and it slid open without a sound, revealing a short entryway with a polished stone floor and handsome candle sconces on either side.

  The voices had not stopped, and with the door open Dietz and Alaric could hear them clearly. They listened as they picked their way past the swaying door and into the polished entryway, towards another door that stood partly ajar.

  “—won’t let you do this!”

  “You can’t stop me!”

  “Oh, I can and I will!”

  “How? Run to the guards? Summon Kleiber? They’ll turn on you as well!”

  “I don’t care. As long as you’re done for that’s enough!”

  Dietz wanted to wait and listen, but Alaric charged forwards as usual, shoving the door wide and drawing his rapier as he strode into a room.

  “Hello,” he called out merrily. “Is it a party?”

  Dietz, glancing over his friend’s shoulder, froze, the knife still in his hand. The door had opened onto a large room whose stone walls had been panelled in polished wood, creating a cosy space around the fire that burned merrily in the large fireplace against the side wall. Several large, comfortable-looking chairs sat here and there, though from their positions he guessed they’d been arrayed around the fire and had since been shoved aside to create the empty space near the centre of the room. He spied a crystal decanter and several glasses on a writing desk off to one side. All in all it was a handsome room and far nicer than the exterior had suggested.

  Fastred stood in the room, his hood thrown back. Kristoff was there as well, and the lack of a cloak, cape or jacket suggested that this was his residence. Both men stared at them for an instant, and then returned to glaring at one another across the room.

  “Let’s talk about this,” Dietz urged quietly, stepping around Alaric and sheathing his knife as he did so. He held both hands up, palms out, to show he was unarmed. “We can discuss it.”

  All the while he was careful to stay back behind the furthest chair, well beyond the reach of his two friends, and, more importantly, beyond the range of the swords they were pointing at one another.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “He’s the one!” Fastred shouted, keeping his eyes on Kristoff and his short sword—once Renke’s short sword—raised. “He commissioned those statues!”

  “It’s not true!” Kristoff protested, glancing at Dietz and Alaric for an instant before returning his focus to the man and blade before him. “I wouldn’t do something like that! You know I wouldn’t!”

  “Liar!” Fastred shouted, swinging wildly. Kristoff blocked the attack easily and lashed out in return, causing the larger man to leap back out of the way.

  “Hey!” Dietz said. “Let’s put the swords down, all right?” Neither man appeared inclined to listen, however.

  “Fastred,” Alaric said calmly. “Dietz tells me he followed you here earlier. What were you doing here?” His rapier was still drawn, though now he had his sword arm draped casually over a chair, the blade dangling idly from his hand.

  “I came to see Kristoff,” Fastred said, frowning, his sword point wavering slightly. “I knew he was up to something and I begged him to stop whatever it was. He wouldn’t listen.”

  “Lies,” Kristoff countered, his own sword still weaving like a drunken man, drawing Fastred’s eyes. “He came here to threaten me!”

  “Why would he threaten you?” Alaric asked, and Dietz had to admire his calm. He sounded as if they were sitting and discussing something over dinner, not watching two of their friends face each other over drawn blades.

  “He’s the one behind all this,” Kristoff replied. “He used me to arrange transportation for the statues. I had no idea what they were, of course, but he had certain… information on me. I couldn’t refuse. When we returned I told him I’d have no part in it anymore, not now I knew the statues’ true purpose. He threatened me, said he’d kill me if I said anything.”

  “That’s not true!” Fastred yelled, sword shaking with his anger. “He’s twisting everything. I didn’t use him—he used me!”

  “Who hired the wagons?” Alaric asked softly, watching both men.

  “I did,” Kristoff admitted. “I have access to all the necessary documents through my employers. That’s why Fastred wanted—demanded—my help.”

  The explorer shook his head. “I didn’t need anything because I didn’t do anything!” He jabbed his blade at Kristoff. “He came to me, asking for aid in selecting locations. Said his employers wanted to establish trading posts at the corners of the Empire. Asked for suggestions, spots on the map, both the actual compass points and the nearest accessible areas.”

  “Then you knew where we were going?” Dietz asked, earning a
surprised look followed by an approving nod from Alaric. “When we were searching the Howling Hills, when we were combing the riverbank, you knew where the statues were?”

  Fastred shook his head again. “No. Not precisely, anyway. I knew we were going to the Hills, and roughly which part of them we’d need. I knew the second one would be near the river and roughly centred in von Drasche’s lands. I didn’t know anything beyond that. I wasn’t the one who made the actual travel plans. I just pointed out some areas on the map.” His face was red and dripped with sweat as he glanced at Alaric. “I didn’t know what he wanted, Alaric! You have to believe me! Dietz, you believe me, don’t you? I thought it was just for trade routes! I never would have helped him if I’d known about the statues!”

  “He told me where to send them,” Kristoff argued, glaring at the larger man. “He told me where to get the statues and where to take them, but nothing about what they were or what they could do. When I asked he said I didn’t need to know.” He looked embarrassed. “I couldn’t argue. He’d have destroyed my career, my reputation, everything. I couldn’t risk it.”

  “More lies!” Fastred attacked again, just as wildly as before, and Kristoff blocked again. He didn’t counterattack, however. Alaric and Dietz looked on, both wanting to stop the fight, but both realising that to intervene physically would only put them in danger as well.

  “So you ordered the wagons,” Alaric said to Kristoff. “You both agree upon that, but who commissioned the statues themselves?”

  “He did!” both men shouted, pointing their swords at one another.

  “Of course,” Alaric agreed, “and we can’t ask Rolf to describe his client anymore, can we? That was a clever move on someone’s part.” His face hardened. “And all it cost was the life of an innocent man.”

  “I didn’t even know the stone carver!” Fastred called out, wiping sweat from his forehead. “I never met him!”

  “I’d never heard the name Rolf until just now,” Kristoff claimed. “I deal with merchants and traders, not craftsmen.”

  “One of you knew him,” Dietz said softly, “hired him, and killed him.”

  “I didn’t kill anyone,” Fastred said almost in a whimper, “but he did!” he jabbed his sword at Kristoff. “He killed Renke!”

  “I? I didn’t kill him,” Kristoff replied, shouting. “You did!” He glanced at Alaric. “During the fight with the baron,” he explained, his sword steady even while he looked away from his opponent. “I saw it—he moved behind Renke, drew his dagger, and—” he trailed off, apparently unable to continue.

  “I was nowhere near Renke during that fight,” Fastred bellowed. “You were alone with him before that, while we were destroying the statue. You stabbed him then. What had he learned?” he sneered. “Had he figured out your plans and threatened to expose you?”

  “The two of you had been talking a great deal up until then,” Kristoff snapped back. “He must have found out about your crazed schemes and denounced you. You killed him before he could tell anyone!”

  Alaric had gone silent, his eyes no longer seeing the scene before him, and Dietz knew his mind was elsewhere. His employer was remembering the conversation he’d had with Renke right before the battle. Renke had wanted to speak with him privately. The little geographer had looked awful, pale and sweating, but Alaric had thought it was concern about the baron. What if he had already been stabbed at that point and his appearance had been caused by pain and blood loss?

  “One of you is a killer,” Dietz confirmed, eyeing them both, “but both of you were involved in this somehow. I say we summon the city guard, or perhaps the witch hunters, and let them sort this out. I’m sure Kleiber could find out the truth quickly enough.”

  “That ham-handed fanatic!” Kristoff snarled. “I wouldn’t trust him to find his own boots in the morning! He’s a witch hunter—they’re not interested in truth or justice, just blood and death. He’d try us all for heresy, you two as well, and tighten the ropes himself at the gallows.”

  “Aye, he might,” Fastred replied. “Not that you don’t deserve it, but that wouldn’t solve anything.” He glanced at Alaric again. “There must be some way to prove my innocence.” Seeing Dietz’s glare, he amended his statement. “To prove I was not the one who commissioned those hideous statues.”

  Alaric started to reply, but Dietz beat him to it.

  “There is one thing,” he said, and all three men stared at him.

  “There is?” Kristoff asked, parroted by both Fastred and Alaric.

  “Oh yes,” Dietz said, shooting his employer a glance. Fortunately they had travelled together for over a year, and Alaric had learned to read many of Dietz’s subtle cues.

  “Oh, that,” he replied, nodding wisely. “Yes, we could use that, I suppose. I’d hoped to avoid it, but I see there’s no other way.”

  “None,” Dietz agreed. “At least we’ll know for certain.”

  “Yes, of course,” Alaric said, but whatever he’d meant to say after that was cut off. Kristoff said something to Fastred, too softly for them to hear, and Fastred snarled a curse in reply. Then blades clashed and the time for talk was past as the two men circled, each seeking an opening for his sword.

  Dietz looked at Alaric, who shrugged. There was nothing they could do now other than watch and wait.

  Fastred had a clear advantage in height, weight, and possibly strength, and he used it eagerly, lashing out with strong blows and dancing back from Kristoff’s parries. Kristoff, on the other hand, was considerably faster than his opponent. He also used a longsword while Fastred had a short sword, the weapons’ size difference reducing Fastred’s height advantage.

  The two men paced and charged and back-pedalled, blades weaving about. Fastred lunged again, his blade narrowly missing Kristoff’s arm and scraping along his side instead. Then Fastred overextended and had to slash downward, blocking what could have been a disembowelling blow if it had landed. Kristoff swivelled his sword out of the block and looped around, slicing down and across, and leaving a bloody trail across Fastred’s chest.

  “What can we do?” Dietz asked Alaric softly as they watched, but his employer only shrugged.

  “There’s nothing we can do,” he said finally. “We wait for them to finish, one way or another.”

  The end did not take that long. Kristoff swept his blade across, but the blow was surprisingly clumsy and slow. Fastred laughed, his short sword descending to block the blow and then arcing up again to pierce the trader’s chest or stomach. Then suddenly Kristoff’s sword spun in his hand and reversed course as if Fastred’s own blade had caused his return. The longsword slashed across and back again, and suddenly Fastred’s blade was falling to the floor. The big man staggered, hands moving to his chest as blood fountained forth, and Kristoff stepped back, his own sword tip tapping the floor.

  “Damn!” Alaric dropped his rapier at once and leaped past the assembled chairs. He was too slow to catch Fastred, but by the time the explorer’s head reached the floor Alaric was there to cradle it and to check his wounds. “Fastred!”

  The portly traveller peered up at him, his face chalk-white. “I’m… sorry… Alaric,” he whispered, blood already bubbling up with each breath. “Tell… Waldemar… to start class… without me.”

  The big man’s eyes glazed over, a rattling cough emerged from his slackening lips, and he shuddered and went limp.

  “Damn!” Alaric said again, still bent over Fastred’s body. “He’s gone.”

  So wrapped up in mourning his friend, Alaric never even saw the longsword that flashed towards his neck—or the heavy candlestick that slammed into it, knocking the blade aside. Turning at the sound of metal upon metal, Alaric stared up at Kristoff behind him, the trader’s lips pulled back in a rictus of either hate or fear. His sword was down at his side, still vibrating from the force of the blow, and glancing around Alaric saw Dietz beyond, climbing over the nearest chair.

  “It was you,” Dietz snarled as he tried to reach his
friend and their treacherous former companion.

  “Yes,” Kristoff admitted, grinning at them both even as he backed away. “It was me. That bloated fool,” he gestured towards Fastred, “had it right all along!” Now that the pretence was gone, the trader seemed delighted to take credit for his villainy. “I commissioned the statues. I hired the wagons. I blackmailed Albers into helping me select locations. I killed Renke.”

  “Why?” Dietz demanded, now past the chair and standing between Alaric and Kristoff. “Why kill Renke?”

  The trader laughed. “He found out, that pathetic little fool! He realised I’d deliberately caused a scene with the gypsies, hoping they would kill us.”

  “You wanted to die?” Alaric asked, laying Fastred’s head gently on the ground and rising to his feet.

  Kristoff shrugged. “Death has no fear for me,” he replied proudly. “My master will raise me again in his service, and with our deaths the statues would have remained safe.” He shrugged. “But you talked your way out yet again, and Renke noticed my frustration. He figured out my real motives and I couldn’t let him tell you. So I stabbed him while the rest of you were off playing hero, just as Albers claimed.”

  “Why are you telling us all this?” Dietz demanded, keeping himself in front of his employer. This was no time for Alaric’s famous tendency to leap in blindly. “We will tell Kleiber everything and he will bring the witch hunters down upon you.”

  Kristoff laughed. “Do you think I fear those arrogant, power-mad fanatics? They do my bidding without even knowing it!” He smiled a cold, unpleasant smile. “Besides, you may tell Kleiber anything you like. It will do you no good.”

  “Why, because he won’t believe us?” Alaric asked.