"To the point? Good," said Caldarus. "During your war with Lord Adalon Cravenlock, you claimed several manors that the Knights Justiciar once held."
"Correct," said Richard. "The Justiciars, acting under your orders, sided with Lord Adalon against me. I defeated them and deposed Lord Adalon. And I showed mercy to the Justiciars by seizing those manors."
Caldarus lifted a white eyebrow. "How, precisely?"
"I did not kill them all, as perhaps I should have," said Richard. "I granted them their lives. And I only took a portion of their lands."
"Mercy indeed," said Caldarus. "But the time has come for you to restore those manors, Lord Richard."
"Why?" said Richard.
"The Justiciars are a holy order with a solemn duty," said Caldarus. "Dark magic threatens our land on all sides. Renegade necromancers terrorize the common folk, and Elderborn tribes skulk through the forests. Rumors speak of barbarian nations stirring beyond the Great Mountains. And even our own people betray us. Some pray to the savage gods of the Elderborn, and a few dare to pray to the vile god of the San-keth. The Justiciar Order alone shields our realm from these terrors. But we require lands to support our mission. Restore our lands, Lord Richard, and become the friend of the Justiciar Order."
"No," said Richard.
Caldarus scowled. "Those manors are ours by right."
"I think not," said Richard. "A curious discrepancy, Grand Master. Your order claims to nobly defend our realm from the proselytes of the San-keth. Yet you are willing to ally with Mitor Cravenlock against me, when all men know that Mitor worships the serpent god."
"A vile calumny," said Caldarus. "Mitor Cravenlock is a good and true man. And, perhaps, the rightful liege lord of the Grim Marches."
Toraine stepped forward. "You tread upon dangerous ground."
Caldarus drew himself up, and the Justiciars reached for their swords.
"Peace," said Richard. "We are simply talking. There is no reason for violence. Though my son makes an excellent point. You threaten and offer nothing in return."
"I make no threats, Lord of Swordgrim," said Caldarus. "I merely state truths. You are the liege lord of the Grim Marches, and Mitor's father was once liege lord of the Grim Marches.Perhaps Mitor may yet become the liege of the Grim Marches, if he obtains powerful friends."
"Such as yourself?" said Richard.
Caldarus offered a thin smile. "The friendship of the Grand Master of the Justiciar Order is not lightly cast aside."
"It is difficult to cast aside something one does not already possess," said Richard.
"I shall be blunt, Richard Mandragon," said Caldarus, his eyes narrowing. "You will restore the manors you took from our order, and you will do so immediately."
Lucan found himself impressed. Few dared to make demands of Richard Mandragon the Dragonslayer.
"Or?" said Richard.
"Or," said Caldarus, "the Justiciars will join their forces to those of Lord Mitor. Our combined strength will crush you utterly. Even if you withstand the first assault, the other liege lords will sense your weakness. Perhaps your old foe Lord Malden will seize the moment. Or perhaps Lord Alamis of Cadlyn will humble you. Return our manors or face utter destruction."
"It seems to me," said Richard, "that your view of the situation is optimistic. Mitor Cravenlock is weak, and has no experience commanding men in battle. His alliance with the San-keth will not save him. Only a few of my vassals are foolish enough to join him. The Justiciars do not have enough men in the Grim Marches to oppose me. You dare not send men to reinforce them. Otherwise Malleus of the Dominiar Order or the Prince of Barellion will see your weakness and carve off pieces of Swordor for themselves."
Caldarus's face reddened with rage, and Galan drew himself up. "If you think..."
"We are done," said Richard. "We do not have room to lodge you and your men as our guests, Grand Master. I suggest you proceed to one of your estates. Or back home to Swordor."
"This will not stand, Richard Mandragon," snarled Caldarus. “We are the Justiciars, the realm's only defense against dark magic! The other lords will rally to our side!" He pointed, his silver armor flashing. "Especially given the abomination you keep in your court!"
Lucan realized the old man was pointing at him.
"Have we met?" said Lucan.
"I know what you are," said Caldarus. "The peasants name your father the Dragonslayer, but you are the Dragon's Shadow. The student of the notorious necromancer Marstan. You are a wielder of dark magic and deserve to die."
Toraine laughed, but fell silent at a look from Richard.
"The fact that you harbor such a creature," said Caldarus, "is proof that you are not fit to be the liege lord of the Grim Marches. Mitor Cravenlock would not tolerate a necromancer under his roof..."
"Mitor Cravenlock," said Lucan, "is a fool, and a San-keth proselyte besides. If you are too stupid to see it, that is not my..."
"Enough," said Richard. “This conversation is useless. Lucan has committed no crime against the laws and customs of the Grim Marches. I will not return the manors I fairly seized from the Justiciars who contested my rule, and if you dislike that, Grand Master…you are welcome to ally yourself with Mitor Cravenlock and reclaim your lost lands by force of arms. For if the Justiciars of the Grim Marches are foolish enough to raise their banners against me, I shall be more than happy to claim their lands.”
Both Caldarus and Galan Hawking were livid with rage.
“Now, Grand Master,” said Richard. “I suggest you depart at once. You are not welcome at Swordgrim, and it is a tiring journey to the nearest Justiciar manor.”
“This is not over, Mandragon,” spat Caldarus.
“I would be surprised,” said Richard, “if it was. Good journeys, Grand Master.”
Caldarus stalked from the hall without another word, Galan and the other Justiciars following.
“That went well,” snorted Robert.
“You should seize them and have them killed, father,” said Toraine, his voice urgent. “If you kill their Grand Master and Commander for the Grim Marches, you will decapitate the Justiciars of the Grim Marches with a single stroke.”
“And that would unify the nearby lords against me,” said Richard, “drive half my vassals to join Mitor, and give the Justiciars a strong pretext to invade the Grim Marches with their full strength. No man will follow a lord who slays a guest in his hall.”
“Claim the Justiciars drew sword against you,” said Toraine.
“That would be seen for the transparent lie it is,” said Richard. “No, I have no need of treachery to defeat the Justiciars. Once they side with Mitor, I will crush them and seize their lands. Since they are preoccupied with the Dominiar Order and the raids of the northmen, we will have nothing further to fear from them.”
“Though if we are to face Mitor,” said Robert, “we must act at once.”
“Indeed,” said Richard. “Once my vassals have gathered at Swordgrim, we will march south to deal with Mitor and his San-keth allies. Your suggestion about Sir Tanam and Lady Rachel has merit, Lord Robert. Malden Roland may try to involve himself in this, and capturing Lady Rachel would forestall…”
“What about Tymaen?” said Lucan.
His father looked at him with the same cold, calm expression he always wore. “What about her?”
“What steps will you take to aid her?” said Lucan.
“We will add her to the charges against Mitor Cravenlock,” said Richard. “When the lords of the realm know that Mitor rebelled against his lawful liege, allied himself with the San-keth, and poisoned the wife of another lord, no man will doubt that I am in the right to crush him.”
“I mean,” said Lucan, “what are you going to do to save her?”
“Nothing,” said Richard.
Lucan’s temper rose. “Nothing? Even you cannot be so cold, father.”
Lord Robert frowned. “She is my wife, my lord…”
Richard shrugged. “What would you ha
ve me do? Whoever poisoned Lady Tymaen has no doubt fled. Even with your magic, she has only hours to live. You could interrogate the servants and the armsmen, seeking for proselytes, but I doubt you would learn anything of use. If Lady Tymaen’s death pains you so much…”
“She’s not dead yet!” said Lucan. Marstan’s memories whispered in his head, showing him a dozen ways he could strike down his father…
“If her impending death pains you so much,” said Richard, “then I suggest you accompany me south and make Mitor Cravenlock pay for his crimes.”
Lucan said nothing. As ever, he could find no argument against his father’s cold, remorseless logic.
Of course, that same logic had caused Lucan to become what he was now.
“Alas,” said Robert. “I shall miss her. She was a dutiful enough wife, though it would have been useful if she could have borne me a son or two.”
Toraine laughed. “You’re not the sort to grow sentimental over a woman, my lord. You’ll have one of my father’s servants in your bed soon enough, or perhaps a peasant from the town.”
“True enough,” said Robert. He grinned. “Why, there’s this one lass at the town’s tavern, fine-figured and bold as brass. I’m sure she would like to be a lord’s mistress…”
“Lord Robert,” said Richard, a hint of reproof in his voice. “Lady Tymaen is your lawful wife, and her father gave me loyal service for many years. When she dies, you will conduct yourself with decorum.”
“Of course, my lord,” said Robert. “I spoke out of turn.”
No one crossed Richard Mandragon.
As, Lucan suspected, Mitor Cravenlock and his San-keth allies were about to discover.
“Come, my lords,” said Richard. “We have a war to plan.”
Richard strode for the armory, followed by Toraine and Robert.
Lucan stared after them.
They would do nothing to save Tymaen. She meant nothing to Richard, save as another tool to use against Mitor. Lord Robert did not even care enough to lift a finger to save her. He was her husband, and content to let her die.
And she had still chosen him over Lucan.
Though considering what Marstan had done to Lucan, that only made sense.
He closed his eyes. Perhaps his father was right. Lucan had no idea what poison the San-keth had used. He could do nothing…
He opened his eyes.
But that made no sense.
Why would the San-keth poison Tymaen? No doubt the target had been his father or another of the high nobles. But why poison just one man? Why not poison all of Lord Richard and his court, wipe out Mitor’s opposition in one stroke?
Why Tymaen?
It made no sense, and Lucan felt something tighten inside of him.
They called him the Dragon’s Shadow, the dark wizard of Lord Richard’s court. Lucan had magic, considerable magic, and all the knowledge and skills he had inadvertently claimed from Marstan. Knowledge he had been afraid to use.
No more.
He would find out what had happened to Tymaen, and if it was within his power to do so, he would save her.
Lucan strode from the hall.
Chapter 3 - The Apothecary
The sun went down as Lucan walked through Sword Town's back alleys, wrapped in a worn brown cloak to disguise his identity.
Sword Town, a bustling town of eight thousand people, stood a half-mile south of Swordgrim. Its craftsmen and guilds supplied the Grim Marches' peasants with their plows and nails and countless other items. The powerful lords sent their agents to buy supplies at Barellion's annual Great Fair, but minor knights and villagers bought their wares at Sword Town.
Which meant Sword Town was large enough to house the occasional renegade within its walls.
Lucan stopped at a narrow, deserted street. The houses on either side were abandoned and dilapidated. Few wanted to live in this quarter of Sword Town, let alone set foot within it.
The reason stood at the end of the street. It looked like the shop of a minor merchant, save that the shutters were closed. A vile, chemical stink hung over the shop, seeming to radiate from the very boards.
Lucan pounded on the splintered wooden door. No answer came. He considered using a spell to open the door, and then a narrow iron plate slid open.
“Be off,” snapped a harsh voice. “Unless you’ve come with a recommendation. Otherwise I’ll set the watch on you.”
Lucan laughed. “You’ll speak with the watch, Alighar? I doubt that very much. You don't want the watch to find some of the things you have in your cellars.”
There was a pause. “You sound familiar.”
Lucan drew back his hood and heard an alarmed grunt through the door.
“Go away,” said Alighar. “I don’t want any trouble. Just leave me in peace.”
“Very well,” said Lucan. “I will speak with my lord father. I’m sure he would be most interested to know just how close you were with Marstan.”
He turned to go.
“No!” said Alighar, voice hoarse with fear. “Damn you. Get in here before anyone sees you.”
Metal bolts rasped, the door opened, and Lucan stepped into Alighar’s shop. A dim red glow came from a stove of black iron, illuminating shelves lined with hundreds of glass jars. Drying herbs hung from the rafters, and a long worktable held a mortar and a pestle, knives, a crucible, and the other tools of the apothecary’s trade.
Alighar himself was a short, doughy man with a perpetual scowl. Sword Town had a legitimate apothecary, one who had purchased his license from Lord Richard. Alighar dealt with clients who did not wish to deal with the licensed apothecary, clients who desired…privacy. When a woman wanted to purge her womb of an unwanted child, or a farmer wanted his neighbor’s cows to sicken, or a young man wished for a potion to win the love of a young woman, they all came to Alighar.
Rumor held that for the right price he would sell poisons to induce what looked like a natural death.
Though Lucan knew that the truth was much worse.
“I don’t know why you’ve come,” spat Alighar. Lucan was not a tall man, but he still stood higher than Alighar. “I don’t owe you anything.”
“Oh?” said Lucan, not bothering to conceal his anger. “You knew what Marstan was. You know what he planned to do to me. And you did nothing! Not a word to me or to my father.”
Alighar laughed. “You’re not that big a fool. You know what Marstan did to those who crossed him.”
“You know what my father does to those who cross him,” said Lucan.
Alighar smirked. “I was more afraid of Marstan.”
He had a point.
“Besides, the blame lies with your father, not with me,” said Alighar. “He should have sent you to the brotherhood of wizards for training. But Lord Richard rules in the Grim Marches, not the wizards’ brotherhood. So he arranged for a…private tutor.” He grinned, his teeth like yellow kernels of corn. “Marstan.”
“You still should have told me,” said Lucan.
Alighar shrugged. “Marstan was dangerous. Any fool could see that. That you and your father were too blind to realize it is not my responsibility.”
“No,” said Lucan. “You knew exactly what Marstan would do to me. Why he even came to the Grim Marches.”
“Fool boy,” said Alighar. “You played with a wolf and it bit you! And you blame me?” He shook his head. “Some have the stomach to wield mighty arts. Marstan was one of them. You are not, and you crawl to me and whine? Go back to Swordgrim!”
He gestured, and Lucan felt a faint pulse of power as Alighar cast a spell. Invisible force pushed him back against the door.
“Go cry into the bosom of that woman who forsook you for fat Lord Robert,” said Alighar, “if she can even stomach the sight of you.”
Rage drowned out any other thought in Lucan’s mind.
He stepped forward, summoning magic for a spell. Alighar threw another blast of invisible force, and Lucan brushed it aside like an annoying ins
ect.
Then he unleashed his own spell.
His will picked up Alighar and smashed him into the stone wall next to the stove. Alighar cried out in pain, and Lucan made a hooking motion. His magic drove Alighar to the floor, held him pinned on the splintered floorboards.
“You threaten me with your puny spells?” spat Lucan. “Me? I defeated Marstan! And you challenge me with the spells of a first-year initiate? I ought to break you. I ought to burn out your mind and leave you to beg for scraps in the town’s square! I…”
Marstan.
He sounded exactly like Marstan.
Lucan’s rage faded into sick horror. But he kept his expression calm. One did not show weakness in front of a man like Alighar.
Suddenly he realized that Alighar was crying.
“Please, my lord,” said Alighar. “Please. Anything. I’ll…do anything you want.”
“I want some information,” said Lucan. “Answer my questions and I’ll leave you in peace. Play me false and I’ll…”
“Please,” said Alighar, “don’t kill me.”
“Play me false,” said Lucan, “and I’ll tell my father that you’re a poisoner. And I’ll tell the wizards’ brotherhood that a renegade has set up shop in Sword Town. What did you think they’ll do?”
“Anything you want,” said Alighar. “I’ll tell you anything you want.”
“Let’s find out,” said Lucan. “Lady Tymaen Highgate has been poisoned.”
Alighar blinked. “What? Her? Why would anyone poison her? Other than as a means to get at you.”
Lucan had not considered that. He could not think of why anyone would poison the wife of Lord Robert Highgate.
But there were reasons to poison the former betrothed of Lucan Mandragon.
“Marstan knew about poisons,” said Lucan, “but not as much as you, Alighar. So I am going to describe the poison’s effects. You will identify the poison for me, and an antidote, if available. If I am satisfied with your answers, I will let you go.”
Alighar nodded and licked his lips. “Yes. What…what symptoms does the lady exhibit?”
“Black streaks upon her hands, wrists, feet, and ankles,” said Lucan. “They grow progressively longer and darker.”
The Dragon's Shadow Page 2
