“You must lead quite the interesting life,” Alton said, turning to take in Dormael's appearance.
“Interesting is a word for it,” Dormael smiled. “I could think of a few others, though. How's the girl—Shawna, right?”
Alton sighed, and his shoulders relaxed.
“She made it through the night. The healer said it had to be the favor of the gods that she lived, though. She lost a lot of blood, and she's fatigued from the cold and whatever else came out of the Void upon her.”
Dormael wondered if his efforts with magic had helped at all, but he kept his mouth shut about it. In his experience it was never wise to reveal his gift to anyone in the east. Prejudices ran deep, even in a moneyed and peaceful kingdom like Cambrell. Most on the continent of Alderak despised magic, and Dormael preferred to avoid being abducted and burnt to death.
“Will she live?” he asked.
“We can hope,” Alton smiled. “The healer is keeping her drugged with some sleeping concoction. She says that her body is struggling to stay alive, so only the gods know what will happen.”
“How do you think she ended up with an arrow in her back?” Dormael asked.
Alton grimaced, “I don't know. I've sent riders to her family's estate. We should know something in a couple of days. Whatever it was, it can't be good. Her father's barony lies on the fringes of the kingdom. It's something of a backwater, but a peaceful one.”
“I...didn't say anything to the authorities on the way into the city. I hid her identity,” Dormael said. “I wasn't sure who she was, or what had happened, so I thought it best to keep things discreet. No one but us knows she is here.”
“I'm not sure it was necessary, but thanks,” Alton replied. “I can't imagine she was involved in anything criminal.”
Dormael shrugged, “Always better to be sure. Someone put that arrow through her—someone that didn't care much for her noble blood. That could mean brigands, sure, but it could also mean someone powerful.”
“I hadn't thought of that,” Alton grimaced, “but you have a point. Baron Llewan was well liked. His horses are the pride of the nobility all over Cambrell. The king himself has one.”
“It may not be my place to speculate,” Dormael ventured, moving to sit on the bed, “but it sounds to me like he wasn't the kind of man one would cross so openly without the risk of being exposed. Is there any reason his daughter would be traipsing around the countryside at night, armed like a mercenary on campaign?”
“Shawna was...infamous...amongst the country nobility,” Alton sighed. “She learned the sword, you know. It's not unheard of for a lady to learn to fence here in Cambrell, but a noble lady that becomes a Marked Blademaster is a rare thing.”
Dormael blinked at Alton in surprise.
“She earned the Mark? Impressive. I guess that could explain something.”
“Shawna was eldest, but only because a plague took her older brother,” Alton explained, shaking his head. “She was in line to become sole heir to her father's barony, so there's no reason she would have been alone out there. Perhaps she was traveling, or...I don't know.”
“Armed the way she was, though?” Dormael countered. “And I didn't see anyone else out there. If there was a party she was traveling with, they were nowhere near when I found her. She was alone, and had been on the road a gods-damned long time in that cold. Her horse was nearly dead from exhaustion. She was running from something.”
Alton sighed and fixed Dormael with a considering gaze.
“Once word returns with my men, I can write the king with a clear report of what happened. For now, I've already warned his Majesty's patrolmen that there's violence in the south.”
“If this is some type of conspiracy, they'll be able to trace that request back to you, and track her down,” Dormael pointed out.
“You have a dark turn of mind, my friend. An interesting life, indeed.”
Dormael shrugged, “Just something that came to mind.”
“Why did you help her?” Alton asked. He regarded Dormael with a serious look. “Many people would have stolen her belongings, perhaps finished the job that the arrow started. Some would kidnap her and hold her ransom, if they could keep her alive. The horse alone is worth more than most people see in their entire lifetimes. You appear to have no ties to this place, so what is it that interests you?”
Dormael sighed, “Whatever I am, I'm no thief. I couldn't just leave her to bleed out on the road. I figured that whoever she was, she had made a heroic effort to reach the city. What kind of bastard would I be if I had disregarded such a thing?”
“You don't strike me as the religious type,” Alton smirked, gesturing at the knives.
“Not particularly,” Dormael smiled, shaking his head. “Let's just say that there are levels of shit I don't care to wade into, if you know what I mean.”
“I think I understand,” Alton said, snickering under his breath. He took a deep breath and relaxed his posture. “You saved her life. If her tragedy runs deep enough, you may have saved her family's lineage. That's no small thing.”
“I didn't know who she was,” Dormael replied, growing a little uncomfortable. He had a feeling that the man was about to offer him money, and try to send him on his way. If that happened, he would have to watch the girl from afar. He had to know what it was about her that had awakened his magic.
“Still,” Alton interjected, “if you require a boon of me, all you need to do is ask. You may have noticed that I'm quite wealthy. Anything you feel that you deserve—within reason, of course—is possible. You've earned it.”
Dormael took a deep breath, and let it out slowly.
“I'm not interested in money. I am, however, interested in the outcome of her story. I'd like to stick around until she wakes up. It was quite the ordeal getting her here...I'd honestly just like to talk to her. Find out what happened.”
“That's really all you want? She may not wake, you know.”
“I know. I'm not asking for your hospitality. If you wish, I can find rooms in the city,” Dormael said.
“Nonsense,” Alton replied. “I've an abundance of rooms and no need to collect rent for them. You've earned that much, at least. Very well. I'll have my staff collect your things and move you to a more suitable room—and pour you a bath, as well. No offense, but you stink.”
“I can only agree with you about that,” Dormael grimaced. “Thank you.”
“It's nothing. I've business to attend, but I'd like to speak to you later. Have my chamberlain direct you to my study this evening. You're free to seek food in the kitchens, as well,” Alton said.
“Where do I find your chamberlain?” Dormael asked.
“Her name is Nan, and don't worry—she'll find you,” Alton smiled.
As it turned out, the matronly old woman was waiting outside. She bustled him out of the room and up two flights of stairs to the third floor of the manor. When the old woman deposited him into one of the larger suites on the top floor, there was already a steaming bath waiting for Dormael in a copper tub. Once the chamberlain had collected his dirty clothing and departed the room, he nearly leaped into the bath.
He hadn't realized how filthy he was until the water soaked into his skin. Dormael had been at sea for a number of days, and he'd gone straight from the docks to the tavern. The sea left a salty layer of grime on a man, and it still clung to Dormael's skin. After the adventure of the previous night, he'd been left covered in dirt and blood, as well. Once the heat had soaked into his bones, Dormael scrubbed himself clean and relaxed for a bit.
Alton must have been a wealthy man, indeed. The floor in Dormael's new suite was paneled in a pleasant, dark wood. A tan plaster was covering the walls, which gave the room a peaceful feeling. Two large windows looked out over the city of Ferolan, and the sea beyond. Dormael rarely had a chance to stay in such pleasant settings, and he savored the luxury.
While his body relaxed, he opened his Kai and let his magical senses listen to the world
around him. Alton's home had a quiet, efficient energy buzzing through it. It was a sprawling place, and Dormael's magic touched upon a small brigade of servants, and a modest amount of personal guardsmen, as well. He could sense a feeling of anxiety that hovered about the estate, though, like a discordant note buried in a symphony. Doubtless the events of the previous night were heavy on the minds of everyone in the Dersham household.
His senses crept through the manor, and sought out the girl.
The strange power that had hovered around her was silent. Dormael listened hard for it, but his Kai could detect nothing. Since the attack in the alleyway, his magic had behaved as normal, and no trace of the other song had been present.
The girl—Shawna—still had a tenuous hold on life. She returned troubled sensations to his magic, as if she was dreaming and lashing out in her sleep. Dormael wondered what in the Six Hells had happened to her. Another presence was in the room with the girl—perhaps the healer, or a servant tasked with watching her.
Whatever this Shawna Llewan had been through, she had fought back. Dormael respected that. Plus, the woman was a Marked Blademaster, which was something Dormael hadn't known. Add all of that to the strange magical phenomenon, and her picture grew even stranger.
There was something going on with Shawna Llewan, and Dormael had to find out what.
When evening rolled around, Dormael was led to the top of the single tower that the manor sported, where Alton kept his office. Nan had sent a young girl in her place—a pretty blonde named Lyssa. Dormael spent the walk making overt glances at her to see if he could get the girl to blush. He was rewarded with rosy cheeks and a mortified expression, which he returned with a wink. The girl absolutely refused to look at him after that, which almost made Dormael laugh.
She admitted him into Alton's study, and scurried off down the stairs.
“Come in,” Alton smiled. “Pull up a chair.”
The first things Dormael noticed were the books. Three full walls of the man's study were given over for bookshelves, and they were filled with tomes of all shapes and sizes. Books weren't exactly easy to come by, and Alton Dersham was displaying a veritable fortune. Dormael had seen scholars with more modest collections. In the floor between the bookshelves was a large desk made of polished wood.
The other half of the room was given over for a sitting area. An expansive window looked out over the harbor, the city's lights scattered along the hillside like fireflies. A brick fireplace occupied one wall, and a pair of chairs with an ornate stones board sat in front of it. A small table held an ashtray and a pair of real glass mugs. A decanter of what Dormael guessed was whiskey sat between them.
Alton gestured toward the stones board.
“Do you play?”
“I've been known to move a stone or two,” Dormael smiled.
“It's so hard to get anyone to play around here. Most of my household has no appreciation for the game,” Alton smiled. “Where did you learn it?”
Dormael shrugged, “One learns things on the road. I can't remember if a wagoneer taught me, or if it was something I picked up elsewhere.”
Alton poured Dormael a drink, and the two of them spent some time setting up the field. Dormael chose white against Alton's black, and soon the two of them were making moves. Alton played a conservative game, protecting his king. Dormael wiped him out in the field, and picked his pieces off one by one before winning the game.
“I'm out of practice,” Alton grumbled. He reached over and poured Dormael another cup of whiskey, and the two of them toasted the game.
“Happens to all of us,” Dormael replied. They set up another game, and played again. For a time the two of them traded wins and losses, and avoided speaking about anything else. After a few games, though, Dormael pulled out a pipe and sat back. Alton took the cue from him, and after a moment the two of them were puffing on their respective pipes.
“I would be interested to know what you think happened to my cousin,” Alton said into the silence, “since you have such an interesting turn of mind.”
“Are you sure you want to know?” Dormael asked, regarding the man through narrowed eyes.
“I'm not a man to shy from serious conversation, Dormael. Indulge me, if you would,” Alton smiled.
“Well, first there are some things I'd need to know about her background.”
“Ask away. We weren't very close growing up, but we were friendly. I'll tell you what I can.”
“You said her father was a baron, correct? I'd wonder how many enemies the man had accrued during his lifetime,” Dormael said.
“None that I'd know of,” Alton shrugged. “He cornered the market on thoroughbred horses throughout most of northern Alderak. Perhaps a business competitor? Their family is old, and Dolland Llewan wasn't a social climber. He was country nobility. His barony is nearly in Shundovia, for Evmir's sake.”
“What used to be Shundovia, you mean,” Dormael corrected him. “It's part of the Galanian Empire now.”
“I try not to think about that,” Alton smirked.
“So the man was no courtier. No political aspirations or enemies,” Dormael mused, toying with his beard. “What of his lands? Are they prone to banditry?”
“No,” Alton shook his head. “In fact, the Llewans helped manage the influx of refugees during the Galanian invasion of Shundovia. After the war, though, they all went back home. It has been quiet ever since.”
“Until last night,” Dormael pointed out.
“Point,” Alton nodded. “Still, there hadn't been a peep out of the south since the end of the war in Shundovia.”
“Could she have been transporting some horses? Perhaps driving a few of them to market, or to a prospective buyer? Horses are expensive, valuable. Maybe it was wrangling, and not everyday banditry,” Dormael offered.
“I suppose that's possible. I don't know much about the mechanics of their business. Still, Dolland would have hired out guardsmen for that task. He wouldn't have let his eldest daughter dress up in warrior's clothes and lead the caravan. Shawna competed in small, local tourneys mostly. She wasn't known for being an adventurer,” Alton replied, shaking his head.
Dormael sighed and looked down to the stones board.
“We should know more when your men return. Nothing about any of this adds up to a simple explanation. She had no conceivable reason to be on the road as she was, alone or not, given her status. A noble lady in armor with an arrow in her back...my instincts tell me that you should keep her a secret for now.”
“Why?” Alton asked, blowing a cloud of bluish smoke toward the window.
“Boil it down,” Dormael explained. “Regardless of how it happened, someone tried to kill her. If it was a highway brigand, then you've lost nothing in waiting to alert the gentry of what has happened to her. However, if this wasn't a robbery...well, it had to have been someone who doesn't fear the reprisal of the Cambrellian establishment.”
“But what reason would this unnamed party have for attacking the Llewans?” Alton asked.
Dormael shrugged, “Powerful people move in powerful ways. Land, wealth, influence—any of these are reasons for you nobles to poke daggers in each others' backs.”
Alton smirked and blew a puff of smoke through his nose.
“True enough. That sort of thing tends to happen more in the capital than out in the backwater, though. Dolland was quite wealthy, but no one wants a barony on the edge of the kingdom.”
“Could be a small move in a larger strategy,” Dormael countered, “but you have a point. Still, if this unnamed powerful person knows she got away and lived, then that person would also know that she would have considerable pull with the authorities here. Either they've got to come after her, or face the judgment of the kingdom. You can't lay claim to a barony that has a current hereditary baroness, unless my interpretation of your laws is wrong in some way.”
Alton's brows drew down as he tapped the edge of his pipe on the ashtray.
“That's...
ominous. This sort of thing hasn't happened in Cambrell for over a generation, at least not so openly.”
“All the more reason to keep her a secret. I'll take a few trips out into the city, see if I can get any information,” Dormael said.
“How will you do that?” Alton asked. “Not to offend you, but you're a Sevenlander. Not the most inconspicuous type tromping around Ferolan.”
“There are other Sevenlanders in the city,” Dormael smiled. “Not many, but some.”
“And what will you do? March up to the guard towers and demand they tell you something from their field reports?”
“Absolutely not. Taverns, my friend. Drunk men love to tell tales.”
“Is that another of those things you just picked up on the road?” Alton asked, eyeing Dormael with a raised brow.
“Something like that,” Dormael replied. He forced himself to keep a nonchalant smile on his face, but prickles of discomfort ran through his stomach. Alton seemed a shrewd man—anyone who had the mind to amass so much wealth and prestige was not to be discounted. Dormael realized that he must be an enigma to the rich nobleman, but if he wasn't careful he would reveal too much about who he really was. Alton was nice, but that may only last long enough for him to condemn him and call the City Guardsmen over for a nice execution if Dormael's true nature was revealed.
“What is it that you do? For money, I mean,” Alton asked.
“Never enough,” Dormael smiled, taking a long pull from the whiskey.
“Very well,” Alton said, narrowing his eyes. “I will allow you your secrets for now. They may become tiresome, or inconvenient, in the future. We should be clear on that.”
“There aren't any great secrets,” Dormael sighed. “Just a lot of bad decisions. You might say that I've done a lot of different things because I've never been able to make just one of them work out.”
The Seven Signs: Three Book Collection Page 7
