Murder in Cormyr

by Chet Williamson

“Aye? I didn’t fancy him as the partyin’ type. Well, you all have yourselves a good time now, lad, and don’t drink too much, eh?”

  The others in our party turned a sullen look on the farmer, and he lost his smile. He turned to Rob and Will, and I heard him say softly, “Now that’s a party I wouldn’t give half a copper to go to. What are they cellybratin’, somebody’s hexycution?”

  He didn’t know how right he was. We rode on, toward Benelaius and the truth.

  The final half mile seemed the longest. All the horses became nervous as we neared the body of the hydra, which had been dragged off the road and left to rot. You could smell it already, and I made a mental note to come out and try to burn it, for if the wind blew from the west, the stench of its rotting would reach the cottage and plague it for weeks. Far better to endure the sharper but far briefer smell of its burning.

  But perhaps there wouldn’t be as much to burn as I had thought. As we rode by the hydra’s bulky corpse, we heard the scuttling of dozens of predators who had been feasting through the night on its carcass, the same way, I thought grimly, the councilmen had been wolfing down their treats in Ghars. The dead creature’s severed heads were probably already gone, dragged off into the swamp for a more leisurely meal. I shuddered and looked back at the road ahead.

  As we rounded the final bend, I saw that all the lights were burning at the cottage, including the large one on the post near the road. There were lights in back of the house as well, as though the braziers that ringed the piazza were all burning. The light shone weakly upon the Vast Swamp itself, and it had never looked closer to the house than on this night. It seemed a huge lump of malevolent life that needed only to hump up just a bit higher to crush the cottage and destroy all the light in and around it forever.

  Or maybe that was just my imagination.

  I was feeling a little jumpy, and more than ready to hear what Benelaius was going to say. You don’t pull a dozen Purple Dragons, their captain, and a wagon load of important or easily irritable townspeople out to the swamp in the middle of the night unless you’ve got something big to tell them.

  Lindavar emerged from the front door as our caravan came lumbering up, and bowed with more grace than I had previously seen in him. “Greetings,” he said.

  Barthelm Meadowbrock was in no mood for niceties. “What’s the meaning of this? Why has that madman of a wizard had us all brought out here at sword point?”

  “Our swords, sir,” said Captain Flim with a touch of pique, “are all sheathed.”

  Lindavar held up a calming hand to quiet any further disputes. “Benelaius is waiting for us on the piazza in the back of the house. There he will explain why your presences have been required.”

  Two of the twelve soldiers stayed with the horses, and I allowed them to watch Jenkus as well. I could rub him down later. Lindavar led us into the house, the rest of the soldiers flanking all of us, with me and Mayor Tobald bringing up the rear.

  The cats, even though unused to such hordes of company, parted like the waters of an enchanted sea as we passed through them. Mayella murmured, “Pretty kitties,” and leaned to pat a few, who responded with deeply appreciative purrs.

  But over their mellow rumbling, I heard the louder sound of one of the feline congregation hissing, but when I turned to look, I saw only Mayor Tobald, his face set in a grimace. He smiled quickly, as if to show nothing was wrong, and we continued on through the main room and Benelaius’s study, and out the doors to the piazza in the rear of the dwelling.

  There Benelaius sat in a large chair next to Kendra, who still occupied the chaise, which I assumed Lindavar had moved outside. There were also nine wooden chairs that I had never seen used before in the cottage. They were designed to stack one atop the other, and had always been stored in a closet. Four braziers sat on the piazza rail, providing enough light for all of us to see one another. Two of our cats sat beside each brazier, making quite a picturesque arrangement.

  Benelaius rose to his feet and smiled at the assembled multitudes. “Pray forgive me for keeping all of you from your well-deserved rest,” he said, “or your further joyous celebrations at hosting such a distinguished gathering as the Grand Council of the Cormyrean Merchants’ Guild. I assure you that each of your presences was required here tonight. All will be explained in a short while, but what most of you probably already suspect is true. It does indeed have to do with the murders that have caused such pain in Ghars.”

  “Then tell us what you want to tell us, Benelaius,” said Barthelm, “and let us go home!”

  “Patience, please, my dear Barthelm. This is not something that can be done in haste. It may take a bit of time to sort out all the pieces and put them together again.” He looked at Captain Flim, who was standing stolidly by, his hand on his sword hilt. “I don’t think we’ll need your soldiers just yet, Captain Flim.”

  “Just the same, sir, I’d rather have them here and not need them than need them and not have them.”

  “A wise answer, Captain,” said Benelaius, “and I bow to your greater military experience. Position your men as you see fit. Now,” he said, sitting back down, “I would ask all of you—except the soldiers on duty, of course—to please take a seat. Yes, that’s fine. Jasper, on my right. Lord Mayor, on my left if you will.” I sat where I was told, while Tobald made his way, with a slight limp, to Benelaius’s left. The others sat as well. “Good, very good. Everyone comfortable? Excellent.

  “As you may or may not know, I have been appointed, first at the request of Mayor Tobald, and then in a more official manner by Vangerdahast, Royal Wizard to King Azoun, to study the recent murders in the Vast Swamp and see if I could solve the mystery of who the killer was. I have been fortunate in having the aid of two excellent helpers—Jasper, who has done much of my legwork, occasionally at the risk of his life and limb, and Lindavar, the newest member of the College of War Wizards. Jasper has gathered an immense and enlightening wealth of information, and Lindavar has helped me beyond words to take that information and blend it into a theory … nay, more than a theory. An absolute proof as to who killed Dovo and Grodoveth.”

  “You’ve found the killer?” Barthelm said, nearly starting from his chair.

  “I … we have,” said Benelaius, acknowledging Lindavar. “And in this case, such definite proof is needed, for orders have come from Suzail that the killer, once his identity is exposed, is to be immediately executed by the military authority.” The wizard gestured toward the stolid but watchful Purple Dragons standing to one side of the piazza. “And that is why they are here this night.”

  “You mean to say,” said Shortshanks, his legs dangling from his chair, “that these soldiers are gonna do for the killer right here?”

  “I am not sure,” answered Benelaius. “Captain Flim, what will be the procedure?”

  “Hanging,” Captain Flim said. “From the nearest tree.”

  “Ah-hah,” said Benelaius mildly. “And there will be no opportunity to plead for innocence, I take it?”

  “None.”

  “That is why,” Benelaius said in the same pedantic tone he sometimes used when tutoring me, “there must be no mistake. And when you have heard our evidence and conclusions, I think that none of us—not even the murderer—will doubt that we are correct in our accusation.

  “I must give the lion’s share of credit, however, to Lindavar. It was he who came up with most of our conclusions, and I think that once you hear them, you will agree that he has done a splendid job of reasoning.”

  “Are we gonna find out tonight?” Rolf asked, “or are you gonna talk us all to death?”

  Benelaius only smiled benevolently. “I don’t blame you for your impatience, young man. But when we are dealing with a person’s very life, we cannot afford to be rushed and slipshod. I would like Lindavar to explain our deductions, and perhaps you will find his discourse a bit less rambling than my own.”

  At that, Benelaius nodded to the younger wizard, who stood up, nervously cleared
his throat, and looked at the assemblage. Then he began to talk, very softly, so that even I, who have good ears, could not make out all the words.

  “Speak up!” said Barthelm. “Can’t hear a thing!”

  Lindavar cleared his throat again and bowed apologetically. When he next spoke, his tone wasn’t commanding, but at least I could hear him. “Most of you are here,” he said, “because you have been considered as possible suspects in the murders of Dovo and Grodoveth.”

  “What!” Rolf said, leaping to his feet. “I had nothin’ to do with that weasel gettin’ himself killed, nor that old one either! And the man who says I do—”

  Rolf broke off quickly as two of the Purple Dragons slammed him back into his seat and held him there. “Another outburst like that, young fellow,” Captain Flim said, “and you’ll be in chains with a gag around your head. In fact, I might just hang you on general principles. Now hush yourself.”

  Rolf glowered at the captain but said nothing more. I heard his angry breath hissing in and out like a swarm of bees.

  “As … I was saying,” Lindavar went on, “suspicion has fallen on many of you. The young lady here, our involuntary guest”—he glanced at Kendra, who smiled coldly, petting one of the three cats that had made her lap their home—“was … spoken to by both Dovo and the king’s envoy in a manner not altogether … gentlemanly.”

  “You mean they came on to me like pigs,” Kendra said dryly.

  “In a word,” Lindavar said, still not looking in her direction. “Jasper informed us of all that was said by all the parties that night. And you are rather quick with a sword.”

  “The killings were done with an axe,” Kendra reminded us.

  “And I suppose you’ve never seen one of those before,” put in Captain Flim, who still eyed Kendra suspiciously.

  “And me?” Barthelm said. “Why am I considered a suspect? I, a member of the Merchants’ Guild Grand Council!”

  “Because any man can be an angry and protective father,” Benelaius said, calming the waters. “Both victims offered some insult to your daughter, Mayella, as well as Kendra. But whereas Kendra is skilled at fending off such clumsy advances, your daughter, good Barthelm, is not. It would not be beyond imagining that you should try to defend her honor, as a good father would be expected to do.”

  “Or a sincere suitor,” said Lindavar to Rolf, “which explains your presence here tonight, young man. You have also a hot temper, which you have demonstrated for us.”

  “Fine, all right then,” Rolf spat out. “You think I did it? Take me out and hang me then—I’d die a dozen deaths to defend Mayella’s honor!”

  “That may or may not be necessary,” Benelaius said. “Proceed, Lindavar.”

  “What about me?” Shortshanks interrupted. “Why’m I here? I had naught to do with that girl!”

  “No,” said Lindavar. “But you did benefit from Dovo’s haunting of the swamp. It kept folk away from the Swamp Rat and brought them to the Bold Bard instead. And not to make any prejudicial statement, but I don’t think a dwarf’s been born that doesn’t lust after hidden treasure, the kind found in Fastred’s tomb. Also, an axe was used, and every dwarf warrior’s weapon of choice is an axe.”

  “Well, I’m not a warrior, am I, Mister War Wizard Smarty-Pants? I’m a barkeep, in case you haven’t noticed. Come down out of your ivory tower and drop by, and I’ll give ye an ale, if you’re man enough to handle it.”

  “And what was given to Dovo, I wonder,” said Lindavar, starting to get into it now, “to frighten people away from the swamp? Jasper, tell Mr. Shortshanks what you found in the men’s necessary room of his establishment.”

  “I found Dovo’s cloak and hat,” I said.

  “Which would lead someone of a suspicious nature to think he used the Bold Bard as a base of operations.” Lindavar held up a hand to cut off Shortshanks’s expected reaction. “But we’ll come back to that later.”

  “What about those two?” said Barthelm, pointing to Khlerat and Marmwitz, both of whom looked extremely nervous. “Did they do it too? Or were we all in it together?” he finished scornfully.

  “Their presence here will be explained shortly,” said Lindavar. “Now let us turn from suspicions to evidence. Of all the mystifying things about these murders, one of the most baffling was not the presence of a certain piece of evidence, but its absence. Or at least the absence of most of it.

  “What were the chances that Dovo—or anyone for that matter—would go into the Vast Swamp at night without a lantern? Granted, the areas near the edges of the swamp are less dangerous than those farther in. But still, it would be foolhardy to go at night without a light. There are patches of quicksand, clinging mire, bottomless pools, hundreds of natural dangers to ensnare the unwary.

  “Yet when Dovo’s body was found, no extinguished or burned-out lantern was found near him, only a few pieces of curved glass from a broken lantern, probably his own. But the killer did not leave the lantern with the body. Instead he took it. Why?

  “The absence of that lantern is the missing piece that enables the others to fall into place. The lantern was taken because the killer didn’t want us to know that Dovo had a lantern in the first place. That meant that he must have been using that lantern for something other than light. And the one who told us what that purpose was, was Elizabeth Clawthorn.”

  “Looney Liz?” said Rolf. “Who’d believe anything she said?”

  “Jasper would. And so would I. Jasper, tell us what Mrs. Clawthorn saw.”

  “She followed Dovo into the swamp,” I said, “to that large open area near where Darvik found Grodoveth’s body and Fastred’s tomb. She saw Dovo signaling with his lantern to someone across the mere. And she saw someone signal back.”

  “So the lantern was used for signals,” Lindavar said. “Signals to someone on the other side of the Vast Swamp. Or someone who came from there through the swamp. And what lies southeast of the swamp?”

  “Sembia,” said Mayor Tobald. “You mean he was signaling to someone in Sembia?” The mayor thought for a moment. “There are a good number of Zhentarim agents in that country, are there not, Captain Flim?”

  But Flim didn’t have a chance to answer, for Lindavar spoke instantly. “There are indeed, Lord Mayor, and other villains besides. More than just Zhentarim agents have been captured near here recently.”

  “The Iron Throne,” muttered Captain Flim. “Precisely,” said Lindavar. “The Iron Throne.”

  “Wait a minute,” Rolf said. “You telling me a bunch of merchants killed Dovo and the envoy?”

  “More than just a … bunch of merchants, lad,” Benelaius said. “They are a secret and dangerous organization, headed by parties unknown but thought to have its primary backers in the land of Sembia.” Benelaius patted Grimalkin on his lap and nodded. “Sembia’s merchants are ruthless in their business dealings.”

  “Like the old saying,” Lindavar added, “ When you look into a Sembian’s eyes, you can see coins being counted in his mind.’ Sembia was built on trade, so it lives and dies by it. And when it comes to matters of life and death, people are not always scrupulous. Elduth Yarmmaster, the Overmaster of Sembia, has been a voice of reason in the past, but he grows old and may not live out his term. In the meantime, the Iron Throne has done much that the elected government would not dare to do, even if its leaders were able to overcome Elduth’s sage council.”

  “Like what then?” asked Shortshanks.

  “Assassinating their competitors, extortion, selling illegal substances, trading weapons to inhuman tribes … the list goes on and on. The difficulty is that the Iron Throne’s backers are unknown. They work through lower-level thugs for the most part. But still, the behavior of their agents has become so heinous that King Azoun banned the Iron Throne from acting within Cormyr for a year. Since the balance of trade between Cormyr and other kingdoms greatly affects the manipulations of the Iron Throne and of Sembian trade, it became imperative that the Iron Throne seek out that i
nformation, but with its agents arrested as soon as they set foot into Cormyr, this became more and more difficult.

  “So if the Iron Throne could not legitimately enter our country and gather trade and production information, it would have to acquire that knowledge by stealth.”

  “Wait a minute now,” said Shortshanks impatiently. “Are you sayin’ that all this killin’ was just to tell a gaggle of merchants how much oats and barley was gettin’ grown and comin’ in and out of the country?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Lindavar answered, “though how you put it is too simplistic. The information needed probably covered crop output, trade routes, what was to be exported, and what would be transported to different parts of Cormyr. Since the area around Ghars is basically agrarian, that was the intelligence that would be conveyed to the Iron Throne in Sembia.

  “In more industrial sections of the kingdom, and in areas that rely on crafts, I have no doubt that Iron Throne agents are telling their masters how many swords and pots and saddles and boots are being made and where they are being sent. It sounds like a stream of mundane information, but it can be the lifeblood of a country that depends on trade for its livelihood. A country like Sembia, and an organization like the Iron Throne.”

  “So when Dovo was signaling with this lantern that the killer had taken away,” said Captain Flim, as if getting it straight in his mind, “he was giving this information to the Iron Throne?” Lindavar nodded. “But how do you know that? And what was all the ghost claptrap for?”

  “We’ll come to how we know it was the Iron Throne in a moment,” said Lindavar. “But the ghost was simply for cover. If Dovo had been seen walking off the swamp road with a lantern, questions would have been asked. What was he doing walking into the swamp at night? So the best strategy, and one that worked, was for him to dress up as the ghost of Fastred, an apparition that would make nearly everyone run the other way in fright. If Dovo heard horses’ hooves, or someone walking along the road who might see him, he went into the ghost routine and scared them away, then moved into the swamp and did … what he was supposed to do.”