“There is one link from the gold chain that held Escalla’s slow-glass pendant. It was by the windows, probably where Escalla tore the necklace off and broke it. The necklace itself is gone. Is it valuable?”
“Perhaps a thousand times the value of a similarly sized diamond.”
Jus made a soundless whistle. Such a necklace might conceivably buy an entire castle, garrison it, and pay the troops’ wages for a year.
It was time to retire from the room. Jus found a balcony and leaped over it, then let the two faerie lords follow him into the woods. Hidden by the trees, the big man sat and laid out tiny paper packets on his knee.
“The body has been dead longer than two hours. There was rigor. I’d make it three or four hours dead, meaning he’d been dead before Escalla was seen entering the room.”
Stroking his goatee, Lord Faen nodded. “A hostile mind might argue that the effects of the poison caused the muscles to freeze in spasm.”
“Yes. It’s not proof.” Jus stroked his chin. “But the mouth was red at the back of the tongue. He was orally poisoned and then stung later by the cone shell. The shell wound hadn’t bled, not even a bead. His blood was already cold when the puncture was made.”
Pacing carefully back and forth, Lord Charn cleared his throat in thought.
“Was someone making certain of his kill? A poison draught then the more definite poison administered at a later time?”
“Possibly. The poison glasses were a decoy, though. There was no burning of the victim’s mouth tissues. I find that interesting.” Jus opened up one of the tiny packets of paper on his knee. Inside, carefully pinned in a slot of the paper lay a single delicate piece of black thread. He gave it to the faeries, who leaned over it and thoughtfully stroked their beards.
“A thread from clothing?”
Jus shook his head. “It seems too clean. Threads ripped from clothing show furred surfaces from the abrasion.” Jus leaned in closer. “This is a thread I found elsewhere. Identical to this second thread, from Escalla’s doorjamb. They’re the same length and neatly cut, like threads bunched and all cut to a length.”
There was a sudden cool flood of understanding from Lord Charn. “Gateway tokens.”
“Gateway tokens.” Jus held up the threads. “Keys used to travel through the forest’s magic doors.”
Escalla’s father sat on a tree stump that had been colonized by orange fungi. The fungi gleamed like fruit peel as the faerie lord used the shelves to rest his boots.
“I have a master list of the gates and keys we know of. I will look and see which ones require black silk.”
Jus nodded and asked, “Where do the gates go?”
“From here? Only to the forest. Within the forest, there are gates to other places across the Flanaess. The forest seems to have served as a travel nexus.” The man rose to his feet. “What are we looking for? Who killed Tarquil?”
“A faerie—a faerie who travels through a gate triggered by black thread, a faerie who could not resist taking the slowglass necklace for his own. The murderer had access to a marine cone shell and knew how to handle it and had the means to keep it alive. And he was able to pass your guards without suspicion.”
Unhappy, Lord Faen plucked at his beard and said, “I cannot use this to clear Escalla’s name. There is evidence enough to convict her if Sable presses for a judgment. We must catch the murderer and link the cone shell, black threads, and motive to them.”
“It can be done.” Jus kept the tiny golden link broken from Escalla’s necklace in his hand. “This gold link was part of the slowglass necklace. We can use it for a location spell to find the rest of the necklace, if you have a mage capable of casting it.”
“We have mages capable of casting it.” Charn arose on whirring wings. “I will arrange it, and I will fetch the master gate list.”
“Then we will find your murderer.” Jus arose, his knees cracking and autumn leaves drifting from his clothes. “We have the tools. We merely need the time.”
* * *
Back at the castle cellar, Enid, Polk, and Escalla were busy stuffing themselves with a favorite delicacy—ham sandwiches made with fresh white bread and butter. With all due seriousness, Enid sat holding a little sandwich between her great paws. The mule stood in one corner, its eyes nervous as it listened to creatures hooting in the night.
Meanwhile, Polk slathered butter upon more bread and let his voice boom into the gloom. “Don’t worry, girl! False accusations are all part of the deal! Without false accusations, you don’t get righteous indignation! Without righteous indignation, you don’t get mighty oaths! Without oaths, you don’t get gods interfering with heroic souls, and we can’t have heroic souls running about doing stuff without being guided by the gods. Stands to reason!”
Worried and annoyed, Escalla looked at him across the surface of a titanic sandwich. “What are you on about now?”
“Gods, girl! Heroes are heroes because they’re tools of the gods!”
“Polk, what’s heroic about being a theological hand puppet? Anyway, have you seen the names these gods give themselves?” Escalla took a mouthful of bread and ham. “Ne’fer fo’ow a god whosh name reads like shomefing from an apothecary’s shelf!”
Her freckles living a life of their own in the gloom, Enid licked butter from her paws and said, “I made a glove puppet once!”
Stones shifted at the door. Without looking up, Escalla made another sandwich filled with extra ham. “Hey, Jus!”
The big man loomed in the blockaded door, checking that all was well. “We’re moving out. You’re ready?”
“Yep. Spellbooks read, and I’m all charged up!”
“You didn’t set a guard?”
“Invisible servant. You just passed him. If it was anyone else, he’d have smashed a bottle on the castle wall.” Escalla rose and looked at Jus, handing him the sandwich and trying not to appear as anxious as she felt.
“So did you go and… you know… see the dead guy and all?”
“Yes.” Jus looked levelly at the girl. “Tell me: were you quiet when you went into the room?”
“Ah, maybe?”
“You never noticed he was dead?”
“Um, well he did seem a little subdued.” Escalla blinked. “So he was dead all the time?”
“Looks like it.” Jus helped shift rocks aside, clearing a path into the castle. “Your father’s here. The murderer took your slowglass necklace, and we have a locator. We’re going to look at a gate we’ve found. It’s the one the murderers used to escape.”
“Oh, hoopy!” Escalla instantly cheered up. “So you can get me off?”
“Nope. Unless we get the slowglass necklace back, you’re toast.” Jus ushered everyone outside. “Come on!”
Lord Charn awaited his daughter and her friends, keeping a worried look upon the nighttime sky. The distant sound of elf hounds could be heard off to the south. It signified nothing. Hunters could be lying invisible almost anywhere. Escalla’s father took his daughter’s hands and drew her up into his arms.
Jus began to mount the way back up to the magic gate above the castle courtyard. He called down, “We have to get the murderer before the hunt gets Escalla. She’s safest on the move with us. Polk, get climbing!”
The archway above the castle yard was a small window—too small for a sphinx. Enid eyed it unhappily and tested her wings. “Can I fly and meet you where the gate empties out?”
“Best not.” Jus cursed and then jumped down to rest a hand on the sphinx’s soft brown hair. “Look. Set up shop back at that old deserted tavern. Take Polk’s mule with you. Read your books, eat stirges, and make it look like you, Polk, and I have set up camp. We’ll be a while. Just wait. We’ll come back quick as we can.” Jus shoved Polk onward and pressed a sprig of fennel into his hands. “Polk, go through the arch and just stay put!”
“Son, maybe I should stay with Enid and—”
“Enid will keep her mouth shut if any faerie hunt comes by. You ge
t to come with us!” Jus propelled the man skyward. “Now hurry up!”
Escalla fluttered over to the unhappy Enid, kissed her on the nose, and then shot up toward the gate. As the arch flashed with light, the fugitives slipped through in haste, ending up in the forest near the palace in the faerie realm.
Lord Faen awaited them. He quickly ushered the way to a stone gazebo just out of sight of the family wing of the palace. An archway showed the recent scuff of boots. Jus ushered his party together then turned to lift a hand in farewell to Lords Faen and Charn. Lord Nightshade held out a piece of silver wire and thrust it beneath the gazebo’s arch.
Magic flickered. Jus stepped through, dragging the wailing Polk underneath his arm. Left with her father and Lord Faen, Escalla fluttered unhappily. She flew to the gate, stopped, rushed back to give her father a kiss, and then shot through the arch an instant before the gateway flickered shut.
Standing alone with Lord Faen, Escalla’s father suddenly felt his world turn a little dim.
In the dark of night, the stink of corpses hung foul and sickly sweet. There was a reek of smoke, and a stir of rats and night creatures fleeing from gnawed carrion. Standing beneath an ancient stone archway, Escalla, Jus, and Polk looked about, listening to awful, furtive little noises in the dark.
“Sour Patch.”
The shanties were burned, and the bodies of slain refugees were hanging rat-gnawn in the gloom. At least the stink would have driven away any faerie courtiers. Surveying the wreckage, Jus rested his hand on his sword and pointed the way over to the apple orchard.
“This way.”
Escalla looked around, appalled by the half-seen corpses in the gloom.
“What the hell happened here?”
“Massacre before dawn this morning. It was a slave raid. They killed the old and weak, then took everyone else through a gate over there in the apple trees.”
Escalla had found the body of one of the familiar half-orc guards. She flew slowly backward, trying not to stare at the corpse.
“Wh-who did it?”
“Troglodytes.”
“Yeah.” Escalla looked bitterly at the stinking dead. “Troglodytes led by a faerie.”
The Justicar looked over at her with his steadying dark eyes. “You all right?”
“I’m all right.” Escalla blurred her wings and headed for the apple trees. “I’m getting sick of this. Let’s get ’em.”
A dead troglodyte lay near the gate tree. As Jus fished the carefully folded black threads from his pouch, Escalla wincingly drew close to the bisected troglodyte. A javelin lay glittering in the grass nearby, the head severed from the shaft in the tell-tale sign of Jus’ celebrated parry technique.
“Ick! It stinks like an orc’s outhouse!”
“Oil.” The Justicar wrinkled his nose at the stink. “They excrete an offensive oil when roused.”
“It worked. I’m offended.” Escalla looked at the hideous splay of troglodyte organs lying on the ground. “Do you have a key to this gate?”
Jus held up a glimmering black thread and said, “I’m pretty sure I do.”
“Then try this locator spell thing of yours. Let’s see where the slowglass necklace is hiding.”
Lord Charn had cast the spell on the necklace. The broken link of Escalla’s necklace had been glued to a small sliver of enchanted wood, and the wood had been hung from a length of thread where it could quiver and swivel like a compass. Holding her battle wand casually beneath her arm, Escalla hovered in midair and watched intently as Jus dangled the little charm and let it slowly twist and settle.
The needle pointed south and hung quite still. The Justicar looked at it intently, then bundled the charm back up again.
“You father said it would start to quiver as we got closer.”
“Well it’s pretty damned still.” Escalla ran her fingers through her long blonde hair, letting it spill like a waterfall down her back. “Damn! That was one greedy piece of work, snitching the necklace!”
“We’re lucky they seem to value it.” Jus settled the faerie into her accustomed place, setting her on his shoulder. “How long until the light passes through the slowglass jewel?”
“Fourteen days. We’ll have plenty of time!” Escalla shrugged. “We’re only an hour or two behind them. How far can they get?”
Walking around and around the dead troglodyte, Polk heaved a sigh then unshipped a heavy ledger from his pack. He licked his pen—forgetting it was a pen and not a pencil—and took notes with blue ink now staining his tongue.
One trawglodite, the little man scrawled awkwardly, using spelling he invented on the fly. “Was it a mighty battle? Fierce?”
“It chucked a spear at me, and I cut it in half.”
“I see. I’ll put it down as a mighty blow, then.” Polk sniffed, partly from troglodyte stink and partly in annoyance. “Son, do you have any idea how hard it is to keep accurate records around you?”
“Look into my eyes and see how much I care, Polk.” Jus jerked his thumb toward the gate. “Now come on! Let’s get out of here before the faerie hunt finds us!”
“Wait! Hold on.” Escalla hovered with her spellbooks open. She dusted herself in diamond powder from her kit packs and sent spell syllables twisting through the air. Her skin took on a brief gleam of magic, which faded cleverly from view. “There we go!”
Jus glowered. “What was that?”
“Stoneskin! It’s brand new. You’ll love it!” The girl posed, admiring her perfect, pure white little arm. “Protects you from cuts, punctures, bites, and swords!”
“Can I have one?”
“Tomorrow, man! What? You think I’m made of high level spells?” Escalla ushered the way to the apple tree gate. “You’ve got armor, muscles, and stuff. Now come on. Let’s get weaving!”
Jus held out one of his pieces of black silk thread. As it passed beneath the arched apple boughs, a gateway shimmered into life. Polk immediately walked past Jus into the gate, his quill pen behind one ear and a half eaten apple in his mouth. Jus made an annoyed noise and stepped after the man, Escalla flying along at his side.
* * *
They stepped out into a wilderness of charred, dead bones.
It had been a town once, a healthy place with earthen walls topped by a palisade. Wooden houses and temples now lay burned and broken, making shocking silhouettes against the night stars.
An ancient dolmen made an arch overhead—an arch tall enough to shelter a giant. Jus straightened up, Cinders glistening like new iron in the starlight. He listened for sounds, then strode into the ruins, surrounded by the moan of wind traveling through the weeds.
As Polk crunched on his apple, a voice suddenly echoed from the dark.
“Hold!”
The voice was very excited and very, very young. Jus, Polk, and Escalla turned.
A young man slithered down from the earthen ramparts, holding a crossbow in his hands. Chain mail rattled, and a long sword on the boy’s belt threatened to spill him head over heels. He stumbled in his eagerness to keep his captives covered as he yelled out into the dark.
“Sergeant! Sergeant! I’ve found them! I’ve got the Takers!”
Escalla instantly turned invisible. Jus held his peace until three more men arrived in a clank and clatter of chain mail armor.
One of the newcomers took one look at the youth and bellowed in rage, “Private Henry! Do these individuals look in the remotest way reptilian?”
“N-no, Sarge, but—”
“Do they perhaps have claws or scales of a lizardlike persuasion of which I am unaware?”
“Uh—” The recruit waved a hand in vindication. “But Sarge! See! The big one’s wearing black!”
“Private Henry, you are a pustulous canker on the hallowed butt of the border patrol!”
Annoyed by his recruit as only an old soldier could be, the sergeant looked Jus and Polk carefully up and down. He kept his voice loud and his hands resting near his weapons.
“Gendeme
n! Geltane is a strange place to be taking a stroll in the dark.”
The Justicar made a bass growl in agreement, then nodded slowly in the dark. “I’m on a private commission, hunting a murderer.” Jus looked about at the ruined town. “Someone raided the refugee camp of Sour Patch. The whole adult population’s gone.”
With a bitter huff of breath, the sergeant relaxed. His martial fury gone, he revealed himself to be a very tired soldier. The man shook his head and pointed across the ruined town.
“Well, I guess they must have come through here. Gods know how. It’s at least twenty miles from here, but someone did see movement in the ruins just before dawn.” The man turned and led the way along through the ruins. “Found a trail. Looks like a couple of hundred people. The trail just seems to start right about here, and we lose it about half a mile farther on.”
“Lose it how?”
The sergeant gave the helpless shrug of an angry, frustrated man. “You got me beat. Come and see.” The man clicked his fingers. “Private Henry, you light one field lantern in the approved fashion! Now, boy!”
It took Private Henry a good three minutes to manage the mysteries of his tinderbox. As he worked furiously away in a corner, a little patch of svelte perfection popped into existence beside Jus and produced a brilliantly glowing stone upon a string.
“Hey, J-man! Hey, guys!” Escalla waved to the soldiers. “In the interests of the preservation of social skills, I’m Escalla, the one with the big nose is Polk, and the man with the dog skin is your pal and mine, the Justicar!” Escalla produced her packets of sweets and began to hand out all around. “Here you go. Good for the soul. Private Henry? Good tinderbox, man! You really know how to strike those sparks!” Stared at by astounded soldiers, Escalla slapped her hands and rubbed them together. “So what have we got?”
The Justicar laid a level glance upon Escalla and said, “My partner, Escalla.” Jus bent down, producing his own charmed light stone—a gift from Escalla many weeks ago. “Did anyone see who made these tracks?”
No one answered. These were the same tracks as those in Sour Patch—troglodyte footprints flanking a horde of human tracks. The line of march headed straight toward a gap in the ruined walls of the town.
Descent into the Depths of the Earth Page 12
