Wrath of the Fury Blade

by Geoff Habiger

Malvaceä headed down the street to return to the Red Keep. He was fuming inside. That bitch has interfered for the last time. She’s just as persistent and annoying as her father was. Ailan smiled, recalling how he’d dealt with the meddling Constable. I think it’s time I got rid of this particular thorn once and for all.

  Thirty-seven

  Reva distantly heard the bell above the door to her mother’s shop ring. She and Ansee sat at the dining table, looking through the scraps of parchment taken from Locera’s flat. Using Reva’s sketch, they’d positioned everything in the correct order on the table, though in lieu of twine, long, dry pasta noodles helped connect the different parchments.

  “Oh, hello, Constable,” Aeollas said from downstairs. Reva pulled her attention from the table for a moment. She was expecting Senior Constable Ghrellstone to show up. “Go on up. She’s upstairs plotting with her Seeker.”

  “We’re not plotting, Mother!” Reva called.

  “They’re plotting,” she said to whoever was down there. Reva knew that she was waving her hand in dismissal from the tone of her voice. Louder, Aeollas said, “I just wish that you wouldn’t use up all of my pasta.”

  Reva rolled her eyes and Ansee chuckled softly. Footsteps on the stairs caused Gabii to lift her head from her preening. “Reva is sexy!” she called to the newcomer.

  “Umm…” said a voice that didn’t belong to Willem.

  Reva turned around to see a young Constable wearing the blue and red bracers of Betula Division. His hickory-brown hair was tied into a single pony tail with two black and green mourning ribbons. His brown eyes were bloodshot, but held a grim determination.

  “Constable Gania, I wasn’t expecting to see you.”

  “I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Gania said. His voice was soft, apologetic.

  “This,” Reva dismissed the stuff on the table with a wave. “Old case. Thought I’d take another crack at it.”

  Ansee walked around the table and leaned against it, casually crossing his arms and blocking any view of the surface.

  “So you’re not looking for my parents’ real killer?” He sounded dejected, and a bit misbelieving.

  “That case is closed,” Reva replied, a little harsher than she meant to. It wasn’t the young Constable’s fault that political pressure and expedience were preventing Reva from doing her job.

  “Excuse my Arisportian, ma’am, but I think you’re bullshitting me.”

  Reva let a small smile break her masked expression, but said, “I’m sorry, Constable, but we were told to close the case last night.” Her stress clearly conveyed that it wasn’t her idea.

  “But you didn’t even interview me about what happened!” Anger started bubbling to the surface, showing in Gania’s face. “I thought you were better than this. Mother always said that nothing ever kept you from finding the truth and getting to the bottom of things. Don’t you care what happened? Don’t you care that my parents’ true killers are out there and will get away with this?” Tears were starting to flow down Gania’s cheeks.

  “You’re no better than the assholes who ordered the case closed,” he said.

  Reva bristled at the comment but managed to keep her temper. Gania was speaking from anger and sorrow, and maybe a little guilt. She could sympathize, having felt the same emotions when her father had been murdered.

  “Look, Gania.” A part of her realized she didn’t know his first name. “I’ve been ordered to close the case.” She held up a hand as he shot a look at her. “And even if I did disobey an order from my FC and the new LCI,” Gania gave her a quizzical look, “I wouldn’t risk the career of the Constable who’s being hailed as a hero across the city.”

  “I’m not a hero,” protested Gania. “I stumbled in like an idiot and couldn’t do anything to protect my parents. I let my mother down. Please, let me help you. I need to help you.”

  Reva turned her back on Gania. “Go home, hero. Get your friends to buy you drink after drink in celebration until you get so drunk that maybe you’ll forget all of this.”

  Gania stared at the Inspector’s back. He was mad, anger swelling in him. Mad that his parents were dead. Mad at himself for not doing more. Mad that their deaths were being treated so callously. Mad that the real killer was going to get away. And mad that Constable Inspector Lunaria was protecting him by refusing to let him help. Damn it! I’m not a child, or some moss-behind-the-ears elf from the countryside. He may have been a green Constable in everybody’s eyes, but growing up with his mother had taught him a thing or two about how the Constabulary worked, and how to get what you wanted.

  “I know who killed my parents,” he said.

  Reva’s shoulders rose and fell in a half chuckle. Ansee glanced from Reva to Gania, but knew what Reva was trying to do. If they failed to capture Locera, he and Reva would be lucky if the only thing that happened to them would be getting kicked out of the Constabulary.

  “And?” Reva asked. She looked down at the table, admiring Gania’s tenacity.

  Gania frowned, frustrated by the Inspector’s feigned indifference. Time for a leap of faith. “And I know where your killer will strike next.”

  Reva’s back stiffened and she gripped the edge of the table.

  Ansee said, “How do you know that?”

  “I know,” Gania looked at the Seeker defiantly.

  “Then tell us,” Reva said, turning back to face Gania. She crossed her arms and gave him her best command look—the same look that had almost wilted him on the first day she’d met him.

  To his credit he didn’t flinch, but returned the look. “Let me join you.”

  Reva looked down at the floor, noticing the dirt and dust on her boots. There were scuff marks in the leather, too. She looked back up at the young Constable. “What if I have Ansee cast a spell to command you to tell me?”

  Ansee almost blurted out that he couldn’t cast such a spell—he didn’t know how to do it—but he managed to keep his face impassive.

  Gania thrust out his jaw, as if to say “Try it.” He said, “If it worked, I’d still insist on coming.”

  “Even if I ordered you not to?”

  Gania nodded. “I’d disobey any order, from you, my superiors, even from the King himself, to take out the real killer.”

  Reva raised an eyebrow. “Not your parents’ killer?”

  Gania grinned, knowing he’d managed to surprise the Inspector. “Oh, I plan on finding them, too, but later. Finding this other bastard is more important. Somebody set up my parents’ deaths using the killer as bait to get the case closed. That means they wanted you out of the way. It means that they plan on making their own move against the killer, so if we want to stop him, and make him answer for his crimes, we need to move. Plus, I figure that if we stop the real killer, we have a good chance of stopping my parents’ murderers, too, as they will be after the same thing we are.”

  He saw Lunaria nod her head slowly. “It also means,” he continued, “that they see you as a threat, so you are also a target if they find out you are still on the case.”

  “I can take care of myself,” Reva said.

  “I’m sure of it, Inspector, but can you take care of yourself while taking on both the killer and my parents’ murderers? There’s a good chance that you’ll be facing multiple opponents at once.”

  “He’s right,” Ansee said. Reva shot him a look that said traitor, but she’d reached the same conclusion. “Even with my help,” Ansee said, “it would be a hard fight.”

  “We aren’t even trying to fight him,” Reva said defensively. “We want to arrest him.”

  “And when do these kinds of maniacs ever give up without a fight?”

  “Oh, come on, Ansee. This is real life, not some adventure play down at Pfenestra’s.”

  Ansee just stared at her until Reva finally relented. “Fine. There’s a chance—a chanc
e mind you—that Locera might put up a fight. But I still intend to arrest him, not kill him.” Reva had her own reasons for wanting to make sure that Locera remained alive.

  She turned to look at Constable Gania. “You can join us. Just don’t complain when LCI Betulla throws us out of the Constabulary. Even if we do capture Locera, she may still do that.”

  “If that happens we can always become adventurers,” Ansee quipped.

  Reva visibly shuddered. “Ugh. Never in a thousand lifetimes.”

  The stairs creaked and Gabii called, “Reva is sexy!”

  “Maybe, bird,” said Constable Ghrellstone. They’d not heard him come in. “But she’s crazy as hell, too.”

  He looked at Gania and then to Reva. “I go away for a little while and you start recruiting moss-behind-the-ears Constables. I thought we were keeping this to ourselves.” He sat down in a chair, stretching out his legs and crossing his well-worn boots.

  “Gania’s with us,” Reva said.

  “Fine. More the merrier,” said Willem. He locked his hands behind his head. “Just don’t screw up, kid.”

  “Give him a break, Constable,” said Ansee. “He just lost both of his parents.”

  Willem flipped Ansee a rude gesture, smiling as he did so. “Then he’ll be well motivated to not fuck up.”

  Reva ignored them and gestured for Gania to take a seat. “So, you’re in. Now spill it. Who’s Locera going to attack next?”

  Gania took a look at the parchment and lines of pasta noodles on the table. “Yeah…well, it’s really more of a hypothesis. Nothing solid.”

  Willem barked a sharp laugh. “So you’re just pulling this shit out of your arse!”

  Gania reddened, and Reva said, “No. I think the Constable has a gut feeling.”

  “Well, we know how those always work out for you, ma’am.” Willem winked to ease the sarcasm.

  Gania was looking again at the parchment. He pointed to the one with Nyssa Betulla’s name on it. “Her. The…the Lord Constable,” he choked a bit on her title.

  “She’s the next target?” questioned Ansee. He pointed to the web of pasta noodles. “I agree that she was in Locera’s sights, but from this it looks like he didn’t consider her important enough. He went after the First Magistrate because of revenge. Lady Ochroma and Aucarii were prominent elves with a dark secret—pun not intended.”

  “Betulla just got promoted,” said Willem. “That could elevate her in his eyes.”

  Reva grabbed a loose strand of hair and began twisting it around a finger. “I don’t know. Locera said that it was time to cut the head from the body. I’m not sure that fits our new LCI.”

  “What about the head of the Sucra?” Gania asked.

  “Grand Inquisitor Agera? What about him?”

  “The Sucra killed my parents.”

  “What?” Ansee and Willem exclaimed together. Reva stared at him, silently telling him to say more.

  “When I entered the dining room last night, there were four elves there. One was the fake killer. Three were dressed in dark combat armor, the kind used by Rangers to infiltrate places.”

  Reva nodded. Gale wore similar armor on his missions.

  “One was swinging an executioner’s axe into my mother.” Gania let some emotion into his voice. “One was cleaning the room and the third shot me.”

  “How’d ya know they were Sucra?” Willem asked skeptically. “Did they have on their cloaks or wear name badges?”

  “No,” Gania shot back angrily. “They shot me with one of those damn knockout darts they always use.”

  “Well, anybody can get ahold—” Willem started to say before Reva cut him off.

  “No. Staging a death to get us off a case. Killing innocent bystanders in the process or as part of the stage dressing. That has Sucra ‘ingenuity’ all over it.” She emphasized the word with her fingers.

  “Fine,” Ansee said. “But how does that involve our killer?”

  “Well,” said Gania, “I happen to know that LCI Betulla is meeting with the Grand Inquisitor and other prominent people tonight at a dinner. I’m supposed to be there as the LCI’s guest for stopping the killer.”

  “But Agera’s not anywhere in this mess,” Ansee waved at the table.

  “Agera’s a snake,” commented Willem. “He’s too clever to be directly associated with all this.”

  “Then how would Locera know about him?” countered Ansee.

  “I don’t know,” Reva said. She moved some noodles and parchment aside to pick up a couple pieces. One was the one marked with question marks and “Head.” The other she held up and said, “Violnia Malvaceä.”

  “Who?” everybody asked.

  “She’s Senior Inquisitor Malvaceä’s mother.”

  “He has a mother?” quipped Willem.

  “And she’s on Locera’s list.”

  “Pretty far down there,” said Ansee.

  “Maybe, but I happen to know that Malvaceä and Agera are pretty close. Malvaceä’s practically his lap dog, always doing special assignments for him.” She now waved the parchment with the question marks. “If I were planning to have a secret group plotting to overthrow the King, I’d want the master spy of the Kingdom on my side. Otherwise, I’d risk getting caught before we’d even had our first meeting.”

  Ansee nodded. “Makes sense. How else could this cabal have met for so long if Agera didn’t know about them and was supporting them?”

  “If we can make the connection,” said Gania, “then this Locera probably can too. As long as he’s not an idiot.”

  “No. He’s pretty crafty,” said Ansee.

  “Too crafty for his own good,” said Reva.

  “Where’s this dinner?” asked Willem, always practical.

  “It’s going to be at Pfeta fey Orung.”

  “Then it’s a sure bet that Locera knows about it,” Reva said.

  “So how do we stop him?” asked Ansee. “There’s no way that LCI Betulla will let us within a league of the place.”

  Reva smiled. “Then we need to be crafty, too.”

  Thirty-eight

  A dozen light crystals set in two chandeliers hung over the large table, brightly lighting up the dining room. Ten guests sat around the table, enjoying the fourth course of their meal. The table was an irregular piece of oak, befitting the classical architecture of Pfeta fey Orung. The dining room was located above the rotunda and could be reserved by high-ranking members of the order for private dinners. Tapestries and paintings of Elven glades, waterfalls, and fog-shrouded mountains decorated the walls.

  The room matched the table, an irregular circle with small nooks and bumps that followed the tree’s natural shape. Seven windows, all roughly circular or oval in shape, were spaced around the room, and a pair of doors led out to the balcony that overlooked the square. A steady rain was falling, finally breaking the heat of the past few days. Lightning flashed in the distance.

  The walls, floor, and ceiling were polished a deep golden color and helped to mute the harsh magical light to an almost warm golden glow. Sideboards and tables were spaced around the room, laden with all the courses for the meal. A kitchen was located on the floor above, but tonight the meal had been catered. Small braziers were lit to keep the hot courses warm, and basins were filled with ice to keep the cheeses, fruits, and desserts chilled. Four waiters floated around the room to serve the meal and keep the glasses full.

  Lord Constable Inspector Nyssa Betulla and her guests were celebrating her promotion to the head of the Royal Tenyl Constabulary. It had been a long time in coming—and quite overdue, by Betulla’s reckoning—and she was determined to make the most of the evening. She wore a deep crimson, long-sleeved blouse with a white silk scarf tied at her neck. Her hair was curled on top with a long braid wrapped around the crown of her head. Jeweled hairpins sparkled in the
light. Large gold, leaf-shaped earrings delicately dangled from her ears.

  She’d invited only the most important members of the Tenyl community: the Mayor, two Guild Luminaries, two members of the Royal family (only the Baron of Macaela and his wife could attend, she’d been disappointed to learn, but Royalty nonetheless), and Aeryn Tacäe, who Betulla was supporting in her bid to head Pfeta fey Orung. Betulla’s husband sat at the foot of the table. On her left sat Grand Inquisitor Agera and on her right, in the position of honor, sat Constable Gania.

  Betulla laughed politely, her green eyes twinkling, at the joke Luminary Calastii told and held up her wine glass for a refill. More red wine filled the glass and she tried to focus on the conversation. Politics had dictated most of her guest list, so conversation fluctuated between the banal talk of city and guild politics and the mundane chitchat of the latest Royal gossip. Constable Gania had regaled them with a stirring description of how he’d killed his parents’ murderer. Everyone had been thrilled by his tale and both praised him for his heroism and consoled him on his loss. He’d stuck to the official version—after Betulla had explained what would happen if he didn’t before dinner—and had then remained silent throughout the first few courses.

  Betulla was considering her options with the young Constable. Right now he was a boon for her, but allowing this sort of attention and fame to continue might go to his head. She didn’t need him realizing that he could use his fame to influence others and to possibly start to undermine her own authority. Many Constables would listen to the boy merely because of his name, let alone this fake mantle of heroism they’d thrown around him. That might prove dangerous for her long-term plans for the Constabulary. She thought about moving him to some out-of-the-way post in the city but didn’t want to risk him being out of her sight or influence. Better to keep him close where she could keep an eye on him; a few menial tasks and maybe some public reprimands for “failures” would make sure that his star would quickly fade. She had plans to clean house and to get the Constables firmly under her control and she didn’t want Gania (or anybody else) to ruin it.