by Michael Mood
Of course, even if someone did come, and did care, what difference would it make? The Guard weren't detectives, they were muscle, and Domma wasn't sure most of them could even count to ten let alone solve a murder. There was no arrest to be made here.
“I might be able to use my Devotee magic on . . . his corpse,” Domma said.
Potter held up his hands defensively. “I know so little of that magic. If you think it will help you may try. Oh,” Potter moaned. “Ormon reminded me of myself when I was younger. Energetic, hopeful, scared. I wanted to . . . to help him.”
Domma cocked her head. “When you were younger? You're in your thirties, Potter. You talk as if you're seventy.”
“But this job wears on me,” he said. “Some of my hair is graying.”
Domma had a powerful urge to touch his stubbly head, but she quelled it and focused on the task at hand. Her gaze fell back onto Ormon who she had talked with only five days ago. Something was odd about the grizzly scene.
“That part of his head is missing,” she noted.
“Yes,” Potter said, seeming unimpressed.
“No,” said Domma. “I mean it's missing. There should be a chunk of . . . of his head somewhere. Who would chop it off and take it? Shouldn't there be a blood trail to the door?” She shuddered. “While I work on him you need to check the other patients' rooms.”
“Alright. We've only got about twenty others here right now. Pox claimed a few of my weaker patients and other than that we've just been lucky not to get too many injured people coming in. It won't take me long.”
“Search empty rooms, too,” Domma said.
Potter ran to the door and then turned around. “You don't think Funary could have done it, do you?”
“He murdered Ormon and then came to get me?” Domma asked.
“Riiight,” Potter said. Then he left.
Domma delved into Ormon's mind, or what was left of it.
It was disastrous inside.
For the most part Delving was extremely random. Domma had learned long ago to simply let the information flow into her, rather than to try and look for specific things. Ormon's mind no longer danced like a living person's, however. His thoughts were still there, not yet taken by time and decay, but it was as if they were suspended in a thick sea.
Memories jutted out like shards of glass, fragmented and strange. Some thoughts went down shattered paths to dead ends, others looped around in an impossible pattern. The remnants of Ormon's brain housed a bloody sea of driftwood ideas.
Maybe something will rise to the surface, Domma thought as she sifted.
She Delved hard, expending the greatest amount of power near the area where she had just recently worked. Something was wrong there. She remembered the tangled mess she had run into those five days ago and that's when it struck her. The area of Ormon's brain upon which she had worked her influence was missing. Had it been specifically targeted, or was it coincidence?
But the murderer had taken it. Away. There was a void around that area both physically and mentally. A word floated close to the edge of that void. The word glowed a harsh white in her mind. Now that she had seen it once she saw it repeated a thousand times as if it had collected at the edge of that mind-sea, swept by a tide to the shore.
FOGLIN
Domma's stomach sank.
“Did you find anything?” Potter asked, startling Domma.
“No,” she said weakly, not knowing why she lied.
“Me neither,” he said. “Alright. What next?”
-5-
Domma and Potter sat in a shabby room at the hospital. They had been talking for at least an hour and Domma was exhausted.
“I have a small cleaning staff sometimes,” Potter said, his head resting in his hands. “Funary was a new addition and certainly not my idea. Other than that it's just the patients. Usually I'm one man trying to do the work of five.”
“This still makes no sense at all,” Domma said. “I really need to pray for guidance on this.”
She hadn't told Potter the word she had seen in Ormon's mind. It had shaken her to her core to see such a powerful statement, and Domma's instincts – on which she heavily relied – told her that now was not the time to bring it up. Domma didn't want to believe that Foglins were real. She knew about the Vaporgaard, but had never really needed to know about what they did or why. Foglins were things that you heard about in whispers, not something you found shouted out in the mind of a dead Haroman man.
“I don't know what the next step is,” she admitted. “I think all that is left may be to pray for Ormon and bury his body. I can help you with that.”
“Domma,” Potter said, “I can't thank you enough for your help. Having you here in my life is such a reassurance. This isn't the best time to speak of this . . . but there is never going to be a right time.”
“Then let's not speak of-”
“Let me,” Potter said. “You and I have worked on and off for years here and . . . there aren't many that bother thinking about these people, let alone someone who will come here and sit with them as they rave. You are one of the most caring people I have ever met.” He leaned forward and met her eyes. Domma braced herself for what she knew was coming. She thought about standing up to break his gaze, but couldn't bring herself to. “I don't know the rules of the Clerics, but I do know I would like to see more of you. My devotion to these people allows me little rest and even less solace, but I think I could find the time. Religion is, I must admit, much of a dead end for me. But you . . . you are not. You represent things that I have given up on, and have been meaning to rekindle.”
“The Clerics are strict on relationships,” Domma said, falling back on rote instead of what she actually wanted to say. She began to sweat. “There can be nothing between us, but I am sure you suspected that.”
Potter's face fell. And it truly hurt Domma. “I did suspect,” he said. “There is no one else in my life. My heart aches. I don't know what to say. Words fail me.” He stopped and sighed heavily. “I feel foolish.”
Using her magic on Ormon had left Domma drained of power. She was alone in this conflict, unable to Delve for guidance.
“We can never be more than friends,” she said, but she definitely did not feel the conviction in her words. Her mind echoed the truth. This could work. This could really work. “If we pray together, perhaps some of your feelings will abate. God can sort this out.”
“I doubt it,” said Potter. “But He's welcome to try. Shall we hold hands while we pray?”
Domma smirked. “I seriously doubt that would be a good idea.”
-6-
Pozzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz ninnnnnnnnnn
“He has feelings for me, Lord. And I think I have feelings for him. This is very, very bad.”
No response.
“I don't know what to do about Ormon, either. He was dead with Foglins on his mind. They did this to him. Whatever they are. However they got here. I don't want to believe they are real. I don't want to have to believe in nightmares.”
Warrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr warrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
“Yes,” she agreed. “The Warden is a problem.”
Her power ran out then.
“I can't handle this alone,” she said to the air. “I must confide in another sister."
She knew who it would be.
Chapter 9 – The Thief
-1-
Ti'Shed hadn't come out of his room since the person with the red-sheathed sword had showed up at the door. It had taken Krothair only four days to eat all the food in the house. He was looking through the cupboards when he realized he would have to go buy something to eat.
“Alright, Krothair. This is weird, but what else are you supposed to do?” he muttered to himself as he gathered a few things from around the house: a cloak, his sword, a small pouch filled with coins. This last item he had found stashed away. There were enough crumpled crown notes and silver oplates in it to buy provisions for quite some time.
Krotha
ir had already used some of those coins a few days ago to stable his horse nearby. He figured that was probably what Ti'Shed would have done, so he did it himself. It had been a relatively short excursion because there was a stable right near the house. No one had asked after Ti'Shed and Krothair hadn't said 'Isn't it odd that my sword master won't come out of his room?'
He'd had no visitors in the past four days.
Krothair had knocked on the door several times, both times he got a muffled yelled as a response. So Ti'Shed was alive, but angry, telling Krothair to go away. That was fine for now.
Krothair was quite used to taking care of himself, so there was at least that familiar aspect to this situation. But everything else was awkward and beyond his understanding. He was technically still apprenticed to Ti'Shed and the old man was still his master. That relationship would not change until Ti'Shed said otherwise. And it was hard to say otherwise when you barricaded yourself in a bedroom.
I should probably just go into his room, despite his protests.
That thought had occurred to him a few days ago as well, but Krothair had been incredibly intimidated and overawed by Ti'Shed for the brief moments he had known him. If the sword master wanted to come out, he would come out. It even lingered in Krothair's mind that this might be another test, but he was beginning to doubt that.
Something had happened that first night, and Krothair couldn't understand exactly what. What could that sword have meant to the old man?
He opened the door and immediately a wave of city air hit him. He wasn't used to the smells yet, that was for certain. He blinked his eyes at the morning sun. He tried to smooth out his hair, but it had always been a bit unruly so it refused to comply.
He began to wander the wide streets of Haroma with the intention of finding some food, but found he couldn't help being distracted by the sights. When he'd been on his way to Ti'Shed's his nerves hadn't afforded him the chance to look around, but now his eyes couldn't stop wandering.
The morning was foggy as the sun hadn't quite had enough time to clear it, but that gave everything a mystical look. The cathedral that loomed large in the distance was a stunning monument to religion. Krothair admired the design and realized that it had been built so that when the sun was at just the right level the giant window halfway up the front face – which was shaped like a gigantic sun – would catch the light and splash it everywhere. The effect was starting to happen already.
Krothair walked a bit further and came to a spot where he could really see down onto the city. The buildings were so closely packed that it was hard for him to believe there was any space in between them. Smoke rose in great clouds from some of them. Probably forges of some sort. He looked for people gathered in the streets as he felt that this might indicate some sort of a market. He saw bright colors and movement not a tenth of a band from where he stood.
Water splashed him as a noisy cart drove by, swerving to avoid him. Someone's hand gestured at him out the window. “Get outta the way, ya dumbass,” shouted the helpful driver. Krothair realized he was standing in the middle of the street gawking at everything.
He shook his head and took a deep breath, making his way back to the edge of the road. He wasn't used to the bustle here, and this wasn't even a busy part of the city from what he could tell.
He took off in the direction of the crowd and when he arrived he found he had been right. Tiny stands lined the street here, packed together so tightly that it was hard to tell where one ended and another began. But they had everything: fruits of all different kinds, dead animals hanging here and there waiting to be cooked up, and fish of course. It was the fish that impressed Krothair the most. Ocean fish were huge. One of the gigantic ocean fish even had a nose that protruded out a few feet, looking sharp and hard as a sword.
Probably be a better weapon than the one I got right now, Krothair thought, glancing down at his sad brand.
He thought about buying the sword-fish. He had enough coins, but he didn't know how he would get it back to Ti'Shed's or what he would do with it once he got it there, so he abandoned that idea and settled for some smaller things that he could fit inside his cloak pockets.
He was thoroughly lost in the crowd and the experience of it all as he gathered his feast. He doled out coins without even thinking that he was spending Ti'Shed's money and soon he'd overdone it, his cloak lumpy and overflowing. He stuffed his shirt and pants pockets as well. It wasn't a terribly long way to Ti'Shed's house, but it would now be a rather uncomfortable walk back.
-2-
He was almost back to Ti'Shed's when he heard it.
“Help!”
The woman's shout came faintly from an alley. Krothair swiveled his head, his heart suddenly thumping. A chunk of the most delicious apple ever was still in his mouth. He swallowed it and strained his ears, listening to make sure he wasn't crazy.
“Someone! Help!”
Something was definitely wrong down that alley. Krothair quickened his pace, cautiously on guard as his boots crunched on the hard-packed dirt.
He saw someone lying on the ground at the back of the alley. Her clothing was dirty and stained. The woman lifted her head up to look at him, her eyes half-shut and her long, red hair spilling in every direction.
Krothair walked ever closer, slowly, slowly. “What's happened to you?” he asked, looking around.
The woman coughed and struggled up onto her knees. “I was robbed and dragged down here. Not sure I can stand up. Could really use your help.” She lifted her hand, long fingers extending towards Krothair. “Can you use that sword if they come back?”
Krothair nodded as he glanced behind him. He didn't see any signs of anyone around so he grabbed her hand.
Something happened. The air shifted and her grip twisted in his. Suddenly her hand was around his wrist pulling him down. He tried to catch his balance, but his cloak flung out, heavy with food, and dragged him over. He landed on his sword-side and felt the ground punch a hard apple into his ribs. The woman was moving over him then, spry and powerful. Before Krothair could react she zipped her hand down and grabbed his coin pouch, tearing it loose from his belt with a jerk that made Krothair's hip bob.
He rolled onto his back and sprung to his feet. He drew his sword and pelted after her down the alley. He reached his hand up and untied his cloak, letting it and its tasty cargo drop to the dirt. He could return to it later once he caught this thief.
She was able to keep just ahead of him, her bare feet getting traction where his boots had trouble. Her red hair streamed out behind her, dust flying from it as her feet pummeled the ground. She vaulted over a low railing and Krothair followed her. His toe caught on it as he vaulted and he went down, but turned it into a roll.
When he came up from the roll he found that the woman had stopped running and was standing facing him. Then his world sparkled as a blow connected with the side of his head.
Krothair sank to his knees, this new alleyway suddenly spinning. Apparently city thieving was different from country thieving. He understood the ploy immediately and realized he had been duped.
“You are persistent,” said the first woman. “But dumb.” She kicked him in the chest, sending him onto his back, his worthless sword falling from his hand and landing with a dull thud on the dirt. “Did these deceive you?” she asked, grabbing her breasts and pushing them up. “Oh no! A damsel in distress!”
Another female voice laughed behind Krothair. “Yeah, yeah,” the second woman said, walking slowly around to the front of Krothair. “Don't waste time rubbing it in, Katya. Should we cut just one of his balls off and leave the other? He's kinda cute.”
The first woman, Katya, spat in the dirt. “Yeah he is. I was just gonna steal his coins, but he had to be all tough and manful about it. That's rough for him, I guess.” A knife appeared in her hand and the second woman jumped on top of Krothair.
He thrashed as best he could, but he was still dizzy, unable to decide what to do. The second woman's body snaked
around him, pinning him.
“Cute is only skin deep anyway,” Katya said as she moved towards Krothair. “Gotta see what's underneath to know for sure.”
“He's got somethin' crunchy in his pocket here,” said the second woman, feeling around on Krothair's chest. “Might be more crown notes.”
“Don't get greedy,” Katya said. But her accomplice had already loosened her grip slightly to dig in Krothair's pocket. He knew what was in there: his Kingsguard paper. The thought that this woman would steal it - or worse yet take it out, find it meaningless, and throw it away - cleared his mind for a brief moment.
He took a deep swift breath and did the hardest, most determined sit-up of his life. His forehead crunched into the side of the second woman's face and he felt her jawbone shatter. She stumbled off of him but then Katya was on him, thrusting her hand, of all places, into his mouth. She used his jaw like a handle and whipped his head back down to the ground.
“Hold still. God, you're strong,” she said, actually seeming impressed. Then she straddled him and the knife was back in her hand. “You gonna be alright, Zin?” she yelled to the woman behind her.
There was a very muffled reply from that direction, making Krothair feel good that he had accomplished something. Probably won't be talking anytime soon. And then Katya was digging around below Krothair's waist and he really did not like where things were going.
Something swished through the air and Katya flew off Krothair as another shape jumped over him. Krothair righted himself and tried to focus on what was happening. Metal met metal. Katya's small knife was parrying blows from a much longer blade. She was totally silent as they rained down on her, concentrating hard to block and parry every single one.
Krothair watched in awe as Ti'Shed whirled and swiveled, using sophisticated forms and complex motions.
And suddenly Katya was gone, disappearing in a whirl of dust around a corner.
