by Howell, Rob
Ragnar plopped down the night’s meal in the midst of his torrent of words. Gulyas. I sighed.
“It’s to be bein’ yer favorite, I’m to be thinkin’.” He laughed as he walked away.
In truth, I enjoyed gulyas though it made my mouth burn. The Empire had spices unknown in my homeland in the Seven Kingdoms.
I stopped Ragnar when he came over to retrieve my plate.
“I’m not sure I can ask Svetislav to row me over to the springs after all that has happened recently. I assume there’s a road or path around the lake where I can reach the springs?”
“Oh, aye, it’s to be bein on the part of the Kopayalitsa. There’s not but a few caravans headin’ east or west from Achrida on accounts that boats are to be bein’ so much faster and safer, but Achrida’s not to bein’ always here, and there’s always to be bein’ some as to not be likin’ boats. Yer to have passed it on the Trade Road north a’ the city when you were to be comin’ here before all this were to be happenin’.”
I marveled again at Ragnar’s ability to say so much in one breath while simultaneously clearing plates, stacking mugs, acknowledging orders, and never missing anything happening in the rest of the taproom.
“So I could be ridi…, errr… ride Deor over?”
“Oh, aye, it’s to be bein’ old and them as to be keepin’ up them roads don’t be spendin’ too much time there, but it’s to be bein’ better than the Old Road even if it’s to be seemin’ not so good at first.”
“Excellent, thank you.”
“Yer to be wantin’ me to be havin’ me boy saddle yer lad in the mornin’ then. I’m to be tellin’ him, and he’ll be bein’ happy…”
He wandered off before I could say I could saddle my own horse, thank you, never stopping his conversation though I could not hear all of it. At least Deor never bit Eirik. He even let Eirik tighten the saddle properly where I would have to punch him in the stomach first.
I settled in for a relaxing night, anticipating a pleasant ride in the mountains.
Chapter 2
Morning, 30 Gersmoanne, 1712 MG
Over the past week Branimira, a seamstress recommended by Zoe who lived just down from the Fourth Serpent on Medusa’s Way, had repaired the rips and tears that various knives had added to my tunics. I chose the one with the lightest linen, dyed light brown with walnuts, and shrugged it on over heavier linen riding pants of woad blue and my old, comfortable riding boots.
I always wore the saex my father had given me as a lad that identified me as a free man. I also carried a small dagger that once had been thrust into my left shoulder. Eirik had made a sheath for it that fit inside either my boots or winingas. By this point it seemed odd not to have it strapped to my calf.
I decided to wear my sword, even though few people walked around Achrida routinely with one. No longer could I roam Achrida without worry, given the enemies I had made. I made sure I could slide its water-patterned steel out smoothly and swiftly.
I hesitated, but finally chose to bring my shield as well. Better to hang it off my saddle and have it with me than wish I had it should Katarina, Pal, or Gibroz decide to deal with me.
I went down to the stables to find Eirik feeding Deor one of the old apples they kept in a bucket there.
“I see you’re spoiling him.”
Eirik laughed shyly. “He likes them.”
“That he does.”
As we chatted, I double-checked that Eirik had saddled Deor properly, also taking the time to check Deor’s his hooves and legs. Not surprisingly, Eirik had made no mistake.
“You’re doing well, old friend,” I said as I patted Deor’s side.
He showed his agreement by nipping at my arm, but I knew him well and dodged the bite and slung my shield on his saddle.
Atop the stable wall, in her normal perch, Akantha watched with heavy-lidded eyes. With a great yawn, she dismissed us and curled up under the rafter.
Eirik opened the stable doors and waved at us as we went down the Fourth Serpent to Medusa’s Way. That led to the Square of Legends, where I turned north up the Trade Road.
The guards at the North Gate surprised me slightly. The Pathfinder Company had served as gatewardens all of the time I had been in Achrida. However, as I thought about it, the change made sense, with over a dozen Pathfinders slain and at least as many badly wounded helping me with the Gropa Council.
Their dead included my friend Desimir. I sighed, remembering his smile.
Despite the fact that the guards at the gate belonged to a company other than the Pathfinders, they recognized me as I rode up.
“Gospadar Edward,” called their leader, a small but powerfully built, balding man.
“Greetings.”
“I am Vojin, a decarch of the Feroun.”
“And the Feroun have gate duty.”
“Hecatontarch Piriska asked us to take over for a while. The Pathfinders need a break and the Enchelei companies seem to be distracted.”
His smirk reminded me that the members of the Feroun also generally came from the Dassaretae.
I would never understand this city, but I had learned about the rivalry between the Enchelei and the Dassaretae tribes. In fact, my deeds of the previous month had thrown the Gropas, the main family of the Enchelei tribe, into disarray. I supposed that Vukasin Mrnjavcevic, the leader of the Mrnjavcevic family and hence the zupan of the Dassaretae, would have preferred something a little less dramatic, but the rest of his tribe undoubtedly were enjoying the damage done to their ancient enemies.
“I’m headed up the Kopayalitsa to the springs for Honker Harald.”
“Is his nose as big as they say?”
“Come by the Faerie and find out,” I laughed.
The Feroun made a pathway through the gate for me, and I ignored the glares of the others who waited in line. Once past the cluster awaiting entry, I let Deor trot up the road past Crownstreet to the overgrown smallish path that Ragnar had called the Kopayalitsa.
As we pushed through the branches, I realized a lack of upkeep created an illusion of the road’s small size. Once, the Kopayalitsa had spread wide enough for two wagons to pass easily. Now, with the brush growing on the uphill side and the roadbed crumbling away on the downhill side, the road only allowed a single wagon to pass precariously along the mountainside.
The day shone gloriously, though much warmer than I liked as we approached Wodensniht, the shortest night of the year. The deep blue of Lake Achrida sparkled below us, and as we progressed I could look back at the city. From here, Achrida gleamed, a town of white limestone and red ceramic roof tiles. Looming above it all sat its fortress.
Now that I knew what to look for, I could pick out the domes and symbols that dotted the rooftops, denoting various shrines, churches, chapels, and wherever else anyone decided to pray. I had been told a person could worship with a different god or godling each day of the year in Achrida. I would be surprised if that were not true.
I nudged Deor down the path leading down to Biljana’s Springs. Honker said the family had picnicked near a copse of pines that extended shade into a relatively flat, grassy area just above where the water poured from the mountainside. Though no families sat in the long, soft grass on this day, I recognized the copse easily and urged Deor down the last section of the path.
I slid off Deor’s back once we reached the springs. I had remembered to bring a mug from the Faerie. With Deor lapping noisily and me dipping the mug in the springs, we drank our fill of the blissfully cold water.
I then led Deor up into the grassy area and let him nibble as he wished while I searched for the doll.
I hoped that the white dress would make it easy to spot, but a systematic stroll up and down the edge of the copse and into the field showed me nothing.
I decided that Honker’s daughter might have gone into the copse itself, even though the pines had grown up tightly together. A small girl could easily crawl underneath the branches. For a grown man, however, its branches and n
eedles poked out like spear tips from a shieldwall. The light tunic I had chosen had helped keep me cool on the trip, but provided little armor against the green barbs marshaled before me.
No help for it, I thought, wincing as I shouldered through the sharp needles stabbing through the light linen of my tunic. Past the first rank of branches, I found some small gaps among the trees and wove through them. Finally, close to the mountainside, deep amongst the tree trunks, I thought I saw flash of white.
I got close enough to realize that I had found the doll.
I also realized I had found something else.
Kapric and Zvono were not going to be happy with me.
A loud whinny from Deor disturbed my reverie. He only did that when—
I had my sword in my hand as I burst out from the copse. About ten yards away, two men with prominent brows rushed at me. Their drawn swords suggested they were not here to chat about the loveliness of the springs. They also had small round shields.
Had this happened but three days before, I might not have done so well. My leg wound still bothered me, but it had definitely gotten better. Also, the day before yesterday I had taken the time to spar with Piri’s Pathfinders, and I felt free and loose.
Without my shield, I decided to use theirs. I feinted slightly to my left, and once they reacted I took two quick chopping steps to my right. Their momentum carried them forward until I stood even with the shield held by the man to my right.
I grabbed the bottom of his shield and yanked up, taking the opportunity to thrust my blade into the side of the shield’s owner. I had heard that squishy sucking sound many times before, so it did not bother me as I withdrew my sword from his guts. Or, at least, not enough for me to lose track of the fight.
I pushed him and his shield at the other man, moving back to give us more space. Though we were of about the same height, my longer sword gave me a reach advantage. I tried to keep him away while nicking at his hands, legs, or anything else I could aim at around his shield.
I found myself slipping into the wrestling Long Guard that Desimir had taught me some weeks ago. It also tried to keep a foe at distance while channeling their rush when it came. Now, instead of keeping my hand out, I held my sword tip in that position, but the new footwork Desimir had drilled into me adapted itself well to this fight.
A quick jab put a small cut on his sword arm. He was barely aware of the cut, but was a touch nonetheless. I added another touch as a flip of my wrist allowed me to slash along his advancing thigh.
This combination of stance and length counteracted his extraordinary quickness, and the fight seemed to slow as we each probed for new lines of attack.
Suddenly, he charged. I stepped back, slashing downward to clear the space and keep the range. I realized, not quickly enough, that his charge was merely a feint. My reaction gave him the space he needed to run to his horse.
I had no chance to catch him before he mounted, so I ran to Deor. Unfortunately, Deor was near the springs while the man’s horse sat near the road, and by the time I had mounted, the quick swordsman had already pounded up to the Kopayalitsa and ridden off to the east, away from Achrida.
I gave Deor his head while I tried to keep my eye on the fleeing swordsman. After about a quarter of a mile, I realized that I probably would not catch him. Worse yet, I might catch him at the time and place of his choosing. I pulled Deor up.
There seemed no help for it, so I cleaned my sword off with the inside of my tunic and sheathed it. Better a stained tunic than a rusty sword. Then I turned Deor around and told him to get us back to Achrida as fast as he could.
As we rode up to the gate, I shouted for Vojin. He emerged and I led him to the side.
“Do you know Kapric and Zvono? The quaesitors?”
“I know Zvono.”
“Excellent, I need to get a message to them. Tell them to come to meet me at the springs.”
“You have a reason I should tell them?”
“Just tell them it’s me and they’ll probably know.”
He nodded and marched off, detailing a couple of men to the task.
I wheeled Deor around and we returned to Biljana’s Springs as quickly as we could.
Chapter 3
Afternoon, 30 Gersmoanne, 1712 MG
When I returned things seemed as I had left them, with the exception that the dead man’s horse had disappeared. I had no idea if someone had released him or if he had trotted off on his own.
I rode into the meadow, slid off of Deor, and told him to let me know when anyone arrived. He snorted as if insulted. I stroked his nose in apology and even let him land a playful nip.
The attacker I had killed remained facedown, sprawled upon his shield with his sword arm out at wide, odd angle. I left him for the moment.
I pushed into the trees and saw the flash of white where I expected it. I left the doll there so that I could find the spot quickly again. Besides, Zvono hated people touching things around her murder victims.
I returned to the meadow and searched the man I had killed. He had a few silver and copper dinars that seemed no different than those I kept with me. His clothes were the same as many wore in Achrida. They merely told me their wearer was a messy eater, as soup and grease stains festooned his tunic.
I roamed around the lea, looking for anything out of the ordinary, stopping only when Deor whinnied an arrival. Most of those arrivals came to get water or bask on the grass. They all left hurriedly once they saw the dead body.
Finding nothing new, I called Deor over and waited while he ate the occasional mouthful of grass. The sun hovered above Achrida before Kapric and Zvono arrived with a number of others riding mules.
The Emperor entrusted the investigation and prevention of crime in his Empire to the men and women known as quaesitors. I had come to discover that most quaesitors in Achrida held to one tribe or another, allowing tribal politics to shade their investigations. Worse, tribal politics came a distant second to any available bribes.
Though Tagmatarch Kapric came from the Enchelei and Kentarch Zvono from the Dassaretae, these two had chosen their profession over the omnipresent corruption. That explained why they investigated murders and not thefts, embezzlings, or other common forms of business in the city. Most people actually wanted murders solved.
Kapric glared at me with blue eyes more pointed than any steel arrowhead. He navigated his broad body with smooth precision, as if a statue had come to life.
Next to him, with a less angry but no less cynical glare, was his partner Zvono. She seemed all angles, with sharp features and long, straight, thin limbs. Piri had told me that the wax tablet that she carried was a gift from her father. She used it to help focus one of the best memories I had ever seen.
Her grim smile held little humor as she flipped open her tablet to ask me questions.
“I thought you promised me no more paperwork, Sevener.”
“Would you prefer to be filling out paperwork about me?”
“At this point I’m not sure.”
“Well, this will probably help make up your mind. There’s another body in the trees.”
She shook her head and started concentrating. “Did you mess with the bodies?”
“Not the one in the trees. I didn’t want to mess too much with your sense of propriety.”
Zvono flashed me a quick smile while I continued, pointing at the body near us.
“I did, though, search him. I figured my emotions and sweat were already all over him, since it’s my blade that spilled his blood.”
“But not the other body?”
“Not even the doll I came here to find.”
“The doll?”
“Yeah, I came here because Honker Harald’s daughter lost her doll when he brought his family here for a picnic.”
“You came here for a doll?”
Kapric rarely smiled, but his face now held a beatific smile filled with cynical sarcasm. “Edward Dollseeker.”
“The Sevener of Dolls,
” echoed Zvono’s laughter.
“That explains why you wore your sword. A mission this risky, I’m surprised you didn’t wear that fancy armor of yours.”
I sighed at Kapric. “My shield’s on Deor, just in case.”
They shook their heads, chuckling.
While we exchanged pleasantries, two men of their party had already busied themselves with the body in the field. Each focused his will periodically, talking little. I knew one followed the Life Stream of magic and the other flowed with the Love Stream. I had met them before but never asked which was which.
Life magic would tell a magician bits and pieces of the man’s life, though in this case it would probably just confirm that he had practiced weapons and brawling. Some traces of my life would also undoubtedly have spilled over on him during the fight.
Love magic would tell us about his emotions and the way his mind thought. Again, I suspected all this would do is confirm that he thought like a criminal and a thug, and my anger would provide a sharp outer layer obscuring any of his less frequent emotions.
Only two magicians had come with Zvono and Kapric, as only those two Streams of Magic were likely to be relevant. Land magic could not describe much about people, as it focused on things that had never lived. Occasionally, it could speak to a gekurios about a place, but rarely. Lore magic relied on the magic of learning, knowledge, and the slow pace of time, none of which usually helped with murder investigations. People called the magic of symbols Line magic, and unless the man bore some symbols I had not seen, that stream would not help here either.
We joined the two men, and Kapric pointed at me. They slipped into the threads of life and emotion that came from me and compared those threads to the body.
“He’s the killer, Tagmatarch.”
Kapric nodded. “There’s another body in the trees, Miroslav. Our killer here will lead you to the doll marking the spot.”
