Wrath of the Fury Blade

by Geoff Habiger

  Ailan finished tying his robe and opened the door a moment before he knew the next knock would be delivered. Standing in the hallway was a young Adept, his uniform neat and perfectly worn, his boots freshly polished. The distinctive green cloak was pulled back over his right shoulder. As soon as the door opened, the Adept placed his right fist over his heart in a crisp salute. “Hail, King Aeonis.”

  “What is it, Adept?” Malvaceä didn’t bother hiding his irritation.

  “Sir,” the Adept replied. He didn’t give a kobold’s ass what Ailan thought, or how irritated he was. People were generally irritated when a Green Cloak knocked at their door. “Grand Inquisitor Agera summons you to his villa. You are to head there immediately.”

  Ailan nodded. Being summoned to the villa was not unusual, since Agera rarely came to the Red Keep, but Ailan was sure that this summons was in regards to his previous night’s mission, and not official Sucra business. “Thank you, Adept. Five minutes. My horse?”

  “Is waiting downstairs, sir.” The young elf saluted again before departing.

  Ailan closed the door and returned to the bedroom. He was prepared, keeping several changes of clothing here. It wouldn’t do to dress in his dark combat outfit for a meeting with Agera. He ignored Veronnia, pulling open the wardrobe and selecting a pair of black jodhpurs and hose.

  “You are leaving me?” whined Veronnia.

  “Duty calls.”

  “Duty? What about your duty to me?” She climbed out of bed and stood naked before him. Ailan sighed inwardly. He didn’t need this right now. Turning slightly, Ailan ran a hand up Veronnia’s thigh while bending down to kiss her. “My love,” he said breaking the kiss. “My duty to my King comes first; you know that.”

  Veronnia pouted, her bottom lip sticking out, but then she smiled. “Do you promise to make it up to me, Malvii?”

  She sounded like his oldest daughter, who was only ten years younger than Veronnia, making him promise to take her to the woods or to go to the theater. He smiled and gave her another kiss, letting his hand wander between her legs. “I promise, my love.”

  She sighed and, now mollified, she pulled on a short green robe and headed to the front of the flat.

  Ailan finished dressing quickly, pulling on a pale blue wool vest over a white shirt and donning black boots. His official green cloak finished the outfit. He then buckled on his sword and dagger. Walking out of the bedroom, he gave Veronnia a quick peck on the forehead and then left without a word.

  † † †

  It took Malvaceä nearly forty minutes to get to Agera’s villa. Delays at the ferry and a throng of elves out doing their morning shopping or heading to work clogged the streets. A servant took the reins of his horse and Malvaceä dismounted. Another servant held open the door to the villa, gesturing for him to enter.

  Inside, he was led to a sunroom on the eastern side of the villa. Tall windows with multi-colored glass set in geometric patterns at the top let in the morning light, though some clouds were occasionally blocking the sun. Large planters of red and pink roses flanked the entrance and their sweet scent filled the room.

  Grand Inquisitor Agera sat at a table, having breakfast. He wore a red and black silk robe over white linen pants and a shirt. Soft-soled silk slippers that matched the robe covered his feet. His hair was tied in a simple braid. On the table were fresh-baked rolls, fruit, small bowls filled with butter and honey, and a small plate of cheeses, all neatly arranged in front of Agera. A short-handled cacao pot sat over a small candle flame.

  Turning in his seat, Agera gestured for Malvaceä to take the seat opposite him. He was ebullient, and his mood gave Malvaceä pause as he rarely saw the Grand Inquisitor in this mood. He was practically happy. Sitting down, Malvaceä noticed the second place setting and Agera gestured at the cacao pot. “Cacao?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Agera stirred the pot, then poured the warm, dark brown liquid into a small ceramic cup, serving it in the Cantullian fashion—very strong and sweet. Malvaceä helped himself to a roll, cutting it open and spreading on butter and honey.

  “I am pleased with your work last night,” Agera said, setting the cacao pot back on its stand. Malvaceä couldn’t help but raise both eyebrows; this was high praise, coming from the Grand Inquisitor.

  “So our efforts paid off?”

  “Yes. Quite well. Quite well.” Agera plucked a grape from the bunch and popped it into his mouth. “Betulla played her part, but your efforts were the most critical.”

  “It would have been useful to have known that she was going to be there.”

  Agera waved his concern away. “You work best when you are thinking on your feet.”

  Malvaceä acknowledged the comment with a nod and took a bite of the roll. I still should have been told. It’s never good to leave things to chance. Aloud he said, “So the RTC thinks they’ve stopped the killer?”

  “Yes. Betulla made them close the case last night.”

  “That’s not the same thing, sir.”

  Agera gave him a warning glare.

  “I mean, with regard to CI Lunaria. If she has doubts about the killer…”

  Agera cut him off. “Your elf did her job with the evidence, right?”

  Malvaceä nodded. Ilyanna had removed all of the evidence from New Port and it was now in a secure vault at the Red Keep. You never knew when the material might prove useful.

  “Then they have nothing to support continuing the case. Besides, my sources tell me that Lunaria turned in her report to close the case this morning before leaving for the day.”

  Malvaceä acknowledged that as he took a drink of the cacao, the sweet flavor rolling over his tongue. Lunaria had a reputation for not giving up, even going behind her superior’s back when it suited her. He’d have to check up on her to make sure that she was really off the case.

  “I have other news,” Agera said, becoming more serious. “There is a squad from Underforest within the city.”

  Malvaceä set his cup down a little harder than he wanted. “From Tubaria?”

  “No. From Galerina. They’re looking for the Fury Blade.”

  A chill went up Malvaceä’s spine. “If they should recover the blade…”

  “Yes. It would be a disaster for our cause.”

  “How did they know it was here?”

  “They may have had rumors about its location, but Duchess Tubaria has managed to deflect suspicion from her cousin’s agents for years. I’m sure, though, that they heard about the killings here and were finally able to piece things together. We’re still trying to determine if they just got lucky or if there is a leak on our side.”

  And you wouldn’t believe me when I first suggested that the killer was using the Fury Blade. Apparently our opponents weren’t so shortsighted. Malvaceä kept the thought to himself for reasons of self-preservation. You didn’t say “I told you so” to Agera without consequences. Instead he said, “I’ll find the murderer today and deal with him.”

  “You had better.” Agera snapped his fingers and a servant came over carrying a large pouch, which he gave to Malvaceä. Pulling open the drawstring, he peeked in and saw the tip of a red and black gem. He reached in and grabbed the hilt of the sword, pulling it out far enough to verify that it was the fake Fury Blade.

  “Find him,” Agera ordered. “Kill him, and recover the real Fury Blade. Make sure you dispose of that,” he pointed to the bag of holding, “along with the body.”

  Malvaceä nodded, stood up, and headed toward the exit.

  “Don’t fail me, Malvaceä,” Agera called after him. “If we lose the Fury Blade, everything we’ve been working towards will be ruined.”

  Malvaceä thought that might be hyperbole—Agera’s way to stress the importance of the task at hand. But then again, maybe not.

  Thirty-four

  Reva sat at an outdoo
r table of a small café, nursing her goblet of wine. It was around noon and the café was busy. The day had become hot and muggy and the only thing that made it bearable was that more clouds had come in to hide the sun. She took a sip of the wine—an inexpensive red that she was certain had been watered down. She expected better from a business in Old Grove, especially when she’d actually paid a Skip for it.

  She watched Constable Ghrellstone cross the square to the entrance of Pfeta fey Orung. He was heading there to inform them that the killer had been caught and to confirm that Roya Locera was present. He didn’t bother knocking, opened the door, and walked in. She smiled at that; Willem was a take-charge Constable who rarely let formality and niceties get in his way of getting the job done.

  The server passed by her table and glowered at Reva. She was taking up valuable table space during lunch and just nursing a single drink. Reva didn’t care and returned the glare with her best “Go fuck yourself” look. She’d had a lot of practice with that look in the Constabulary and the server moved on to deal with real customers.

  A few minutes after Willem entered the building, Ansee walked through the lunch crowd and sat down on Reva’s left, still allowing her an unobstructed view of Pfeta fey Orung. The server approached again, clearly anticipating that they’d order food now that the woman’s partner had arrived, but Ansee waved him away. The server went off in a huff, but neither of them cared.

  Ansee had just come from the Royal Post Office, where he’d learned the location of Locera’s home. “He lives in a flat above a bookbinder on Wild Thistle Alley.”

  “Over in Merchants Grove,” Reva said, nodding. “I know the area. It shouldn’t be hard to find.”

  † † †

  Malvaceä walked into the square in front of Pfeta fey Orung. It was the lunch hour and the cafés and restaurants around the edge of the square were filled with patrons. After meeting with Agera he’d gone to the Red Keep, where he’d been able to properly freshen up and change into a proper Sucra uniform. He’d also sent runners to find Olsteinan and Aaron.

  While waiting for them to arrive, he’d checked his messages. The Sucra had a large force of informants, spies, and people willing to sell out their neighbors in the protection of the Kingdom. After his interrogation of Gwendolyn, he’d sent word that he wanted information about elves buying specific potions and who matched the description that she’d given him.

  A few names had turned up that he’d been able to cross-reference against members of Pfeta fey Orung. That had resulted in three names: Ghannia Illwinnii, Roya Locera, and Elwynn Flyntwhistle. Malvaceä had a hunch who his killer was, but now wasn’t the time for hunches. He had to stop this elf and retrieve the Fury Blade. Now was the time for action. He and his elves were heading to Pfeta fey Orung to arrest all three suspects. He’d interrogate them, learn what they knew, if anything, and retrieve the weapon. He’d then kill all three of them. The certainty that two innocent elves would lose their lives didn’t bother Malvaceä in the slightest, as long as he accomplished his mission.

  Crossing the square with Olsteinan and Aaron in tow, Malvaceä caught sight of a Seeker whose face was familiar. He’d met the elf only once, at the murder scene of First Magistrate Avecath, but having a memory for names and faces was something Malvaceä was good at.

  “Seeker Carya,” Malvaceä said under his breath, stopping in the square. He watched the Seeker enter a café with open air tables and join… “Son of a succubus.”

  “Sir?” asked Olsteinan.

  “Constable Inspector Lunaria. I knew you couldn’t stay away.” He threaded his way through the crowd in order to get into a better position to watch the two Constables.

  “What’s up, sir?” asked Olsteinan again.

  “Playing a hunch,” grinned Malvaceä.

  † † †

  Reva and Ansee sat quietly, watching Pfeta fey Orung. The massive bulk of the tree dominated the square. It provided ample shade for the shops and restaurants in the area—though the gathering clouds today made that a moot point.

  After a few minutes Reva nodded her head slowly, signaling to Willem, who’d just emerged from the building. The Constable reached up, scratching his left earlobe, indicating that their target was in the building.

  Reva stood up, saying, “Let’s go.”

  † † †

  “Follow them,” Malvaceä ordered. The three Green Cloaks moved stealthily through the crowd, following their new quarry.

  You may be a decent enough inspector, thought Malvaceä, but you suck at spy craft. All the better for me.

  In the few minutes he’d watched Lunaria and Seeker Carya, he became suspicious of why they were at that particular café, with its excellent view of Pfeta fey Orung’s entrance. He could have thought that they were having lunch, but they weren’t eating anything. The paranoid part of his mind at first had thought that Lunaria was waiting to see if he was going to show up, to stop him from doing his duty. But he’d quickly dismissed that idea. Seeker Carya kept staring at the tall tree, obviously looking for someone. Malvaceä had caught sight of the other Constable leave the building and scratch his ear—obviously a pre-arranged signal. That was confirmed when Lunaria and her Seeker immediately left the café.

  He was now certain that his hunch was right. She was still working the case.

  † † †

  Fifteen minutes after leaving the café, Reva and Ansee turned right onto Wild Thistle Alley. She wondered when this part of the city had last seen a thistle, wild or otherwise. It was a part of Merchants Grove between King’s Bridge and Queen’s Bridge. The area was dominated by neoclassical buildings built after the Great Fire had destroyed most of the city south of the river. The alley was narrow, barely wide enough for a cart to travel down it—a really narrow cart. It was packed dirt that probably turned to mud every time it rained.

  All of the buildings were two stories tall, with brick and stone ground floors and wood beam and plaster lath first floors. The first floors all seemed to loom out over the alley and clotheslines snaked between buildings. Most of the ground floor spaces were businesses—bookmakers for the most part, or elves in the book-making trades—ink makers, leather workers, paper makers, and bookbinders.

  There were two bookbinders with shops in the alley. Reva entered the first one she came to and inquired about who lived upstairs.

  “Who wants ta know?” called an aged male elf stitching pages of a book together. Looking up, he saw Reva standing between two tables that were filled with already-bound books, loose pages, and book covers waiting to be bound. “Oh, Constable,” the owner apologized upon seeing Reva’s official bracers. “No disrespect.”

  Reva smiled. Most people in Tenyl were willing to help a Constable—as long as they weren’t put out too much. She felt that they were less intimidating than the Sucra, so people were inclined to help from a sense of duty rather than fear.

  “The wife and me, ma’am. We live up there.”

  “Áeorias,” Reva said in thanks. “Sorry to have bothered you.” She left without further explanation and she and Ansee headed to the second shop.

  There was a narrow passage between the bookbinder’s shop and the paper maker on the left. A narrow set of stairs went up to the first floor. Reva gestured for Ansee to go up first. She took a glance around the alley and then followed him.

  † † †

  Malvaceä and his partners watched Reva head up the stairs. He was confident that she’d not seen them. A blind ogre could follow those two and not be seen, he thought.

  Turning to Aaron, Malvaceä said, “Find out who lives there.”

  Aaron nodded and entered the closest shop, a leather worker, by the sign above the door. He returned a minute later, reporting, “It’s let to Roya Locera.”

  Malvaceä grinned. “Good. I want to see how this plays out.”

  Thirty-five

  R
eva stepped into the flat, her sword drawn. Ansee’s spell had easily defeated the lock on the door. She took two steps in and to her right, allowing Ansee enough room to enter and close the door behind him.

  Warm light entered through three grimy windows at the front of the room. It took up over half of the flat and was simply, but neatly, furnished. A fireplace was on the opposite wall to Reva’s right, a table with three chairs sitting before it. A collection of five Basvu Masks hung over the mantle. Reva sighed; none of them was the mask worn by the killer, but it gave her hope that they were on the right track. Next to the table, immediately to Reva’s right, was a small sitting area with bookshelves hanging from the walls and two armchairs. A cloak rack hung from the wall directly behind Reva.

  In front of Ansee was the kitchen area, separated from the front room by a narrow island counter top. A wine rack with four wine bottles stood on the floor next to the counter closest to Ansee. Cabinets, shelves, and a wash basin lined a narrow counter along the back wall of the kitchen. A bowl filled with walnuts sat on the island counter and a three-tiered hanging basket at the far end appeared to hold onions, squash, and carrots.

  Three doors led off from the living and kitchen area, all toward the back of the flat. A short hall was to Ansee’s immediate left: a narrow door was on the right and a second door was at the end of the hall. The third door was in the back wall to the right of the kitchen.

  “What are we looking for?” asked Ansee.

  “Anything that will connect Roya to our murders.” Reva sheathed her sword and moved to examine the bookshelves.