Death and Honor: Book 1 of 2

by James Wisher

  Eric spotted him chatting with one of the older lieutenants near the main entrance. “Jeremiah.” Eric waved to get his attention. The lieutenant took the hint excused himself. “It’s been a while since you visited the city.”

  “About four months. I brought you a present.” he nodded toward the line of prisoners on the steps behind him.

  “I sent you a message about a missing caravan a couple days ago. Did you get it? When I didn’t get a reply from you I got worried.”

  “I received no message, but this lot is no doubt responsible for your missing caravan. I’ll return the recovered merchandise as soon as I’m done here.”

  “No doubt they’ll be delighted to get it. You’re certain you didn’t get my message?”

  Jeremiah’s hand went to the hilt of his sword. “I said no.”

  “Of course.” Eric took a step back. Jeremiah was one of those hard asses that took the notion of personal honor way too serious. If you didn’t want chunks carved out of your body you didn’t question his honor. Fortunately it would never occur to him to lie so the message hadn’t arrived. The bird probably ended up in the belly of a hawk. “Herd them on in. We’ll find room.”

  Jeremiah nodded and motion to his men. With the tips of their swords and some none to gentle shoves they forced the bandits up the steps and inside.

  The sergeant Eric dispatched earlier returned. “We’ve made room, sir.”

  “Excellent, fetch some custody transfer forms.” Eric turned back to Jeremiah. “This’ll only take a second. Are you staying in the city long?”

  “A day, perhaps two.”

  “I can recommend a good inn.” Where I can arrange to have an eye kept on you.

  “No need, I’ll be staying at the lord’s mansion.”

  Eric smiled. “I don’t know anywhere that nice.” the guardsman returned with the paperwork. “Here we go.”

  Jeremiah read the paper then signed it. Eric signed right below him and completed the transfer.

  “Good day,” Jeremiah turned on his heel and walked out, his men falling in behind him.

  Eric waited until they’d gone down the street then he went outside and down the steps. Where was that damn pickpocket? There, outside the Drunken Donkey. Eric stalked over like he planned to run the kid off. The skinny little thief cringed as he was supposed to. Eric grabbed his collar and yanked him into the alley nearby.

  “You saw the well dressed gentleman that just left?”

  The thief’s beady black eyes darted left and right. “I saw him.”

  “I want you to follow him. Everywhere he goes, everyone he talks to I want to hear about it. I’ll meet you tonight at the usual place.”

  The thief held out a filthy hand. Eric’s lip curled, but he dropped a pair of gold royals into the thief’s hand. “I’ll watch him good.”

  “You’d better unless you fancy losing that hand.”

  * * *

  Jeremiah left Watch headquarters right after signing the release papers. Something about Ericsson rubbed him the wrong way. The man seemed too soft for the job he’d taken on. Jeremiah sighed as he walked down the steps. By all accounts Eric had done a serviceable job as Watch commander. Maybe he just had a different command style. Whatever it was Jeremiah was glad to leave the man behind.

  “What now, sir?” Sergeant Michaels asked. The young man received his stripes three months ago and this was his first assignment with anything resembling real authority.

  “Take the men to the mansion and get them bunks. Take my horse as well; I prefer to walk when I’m in the city. I’ll be along later.”

  “Yes, sir.” The young man led the rest of the soldiers off toward the mansion. The best thing about new promotions, they seldom talked back.

  “Just you and me now,” Burt said.

  “Looks that way.” Jeremiah climbed up beside him on the wagon seat. “I don’t suppose you know the way to the warehouse?”

  “Sorry, sir, never been there.”

  A silver penny jogged the memory of a passing messenger boy and they were on their way. As they rattled their way through the streets of Lord’s Way Jeremiah thought back to his youth, first as a boy running messages for coppers like the boy that gave them directions then later as a Watchman chasing down criminals. Burt’s voice jolted him back to the present.

  “I’m sorry, my mind wandered.”

  “I say did you spend much time in the city?”

  “Oh yes, I grew up here and I served in the Watch for ten years. My father had a blacksmith shop in the southern business district. How about you?”

  “I pass through now and then, but never for long. Got me a little cottage on the outskirts of White Mountain, though I spend most of my time on the road.”

  “There’s the warehouse.” Jeremiah pointed to a large building on the east side of the street, a circle with three stars inside engraved on the doors.

  Burt guided the wagon alongside the double doors and Jeremiah climbed down. The warehouse buzzed with activity, four broad shouldered men unloaded a pair of wagons overseen by a set of identical twins.

  “Excuse me,” Jeremiah said.

  The twins looked up then hurried over. “Can we help you?” the left twin asked.

  “Are you the owners of the Tristar Merchant Company?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m Isak,” the right twin said.

  “And I’m Isik,” the left twin said.

  “What can we do for you?” they said together.

  “I am Lord Knight Jeremiah Kane and I’m afraid I have bad news for you. Bandits attacked one of your caravans.”

  “Oh, dear,” Isak said. “The people?”

  “All dead, save one I’m afraid,” Jeremiah said. “We recovered most of your merchandise.”

  “So the Knight Commander was right, bandit activity has increased,” Isik said.

  “Eric mentioned bandits to you?”

  “Yes, several days ago he stopped to ask if we had any caravans running late,” Isak said.

  Jeremiah frowned. Eric said the merchants reported their caravan missing. Someone was lying to him, and he couldn’t imagine why the merchant would do so. He couldn’t imagine why Eric would either but he felt certain if anyone was lying it was Eric.

  Jeremiah and the twins walked over to the wagon. “Gentlemen this is Burt, the sole survivor of your caravan. Thanks to his efforts we brought the bandits to justice.”

  “Many thanks for your efforts, sir,” Isak said. “We would be happy to double you wage as a bonus.”

  Burt nodded. “Much obliged.”

  “I was hoping you would inventory the items we recovered. I’m curious to see if anything’s missing.”

  “Certainly, Lord Knight,” Isak said. “We have a manifest in the office.”

  Isik trotted back into the warehouse and a moment later Isak cocked his head and looked through the merchandise. Jeremiah and Burt shared a look.

  After fifteen minutes Isak said, “Three bales of cloth and a bag of pipeweed are missing.”

  “That’s all?”

  “Yes, thanks to your diligence we still have an excellent chance to turn a profit on this trip. We must reward you.”

  “Not necessary, I was doing my duty.”

  “There must be something we can do to thank you,” Isak said.

  “If you insist you can give any reward to the families of the victims.”

  Isak nodded. “I’m not certain who we hired for that trip, but we’ll do our best find out.”

  “I imagine Burt can help you with that.”

  “Sure,” Burt said. “I knew all the drovers. Can’t say about the guards though.”

  “That’s a good start,” Isak said.

  They climbed down from the wagon and Burt held out his hand. “Been a pleasure, Lord Knight.”

  Jeremiah shook his hand. “If you could drop the wagon off at the Lord’s mansion I’d appreciate it.”

  “Sure,” Burt said. “You don’t suppose they’ll run me off if I tr
y and leave a wagon there?”

  Jeremiah dug a copper token out of his pocket. On one side was a lion and on the other his name. “Show them this at the gate and they’ll know I sent you. You shouldn’t have a problem. If there’s any trouble ask for Sergeant Michaels, he’ll vouch for you.”

  He left the warehouse and walked down the street, his mind working to untangle the mess surrounding him. It was obvious the twins were ignorant of the small chest so the caravan master must have made a private arrangement with the mystery woman. There was no way around it, he’d have to track the woman down and see what she had to tell him.

  The next problem was Eric. Assuming the twins hadn’t lied to him, and he could see no reason they would, then Eric lied about the circumstances surrounding his learning about the caravan. Jeremiah hated to think ill of a fellow knight, even one he didn’t like, but there was no way around it. The man’s actions stank to high heaven.

  Jeremiah glanced around to get his bearings. His subconscious must have been looking out for him since he found he was a couple blocks from the sage’s shop. A few more minutes walking led him to an unassuming brick storefront, the sign above the door showed an open book and a candle. The name Alzado was carved in the wood below the book. It seemed he had the right shop.

  Jeremiah stepped up and knocked on the door. A few seconds later the door opened and a withered old man bent almost double stood looking up at him, frowning hard.

  “You work for the government?” Alzado said it as half question and half accusation.

  “Yes, sir. I was hoping you could help me.”

  “I don’t work for the government anymore. You people never pay on time and I’m too old to worry about outstanding bills.”

  “My wife recommended you, sir, and I’d be happy to pay up front.”

  The old man’s eyes narrowed. “You’re sure you’re with the government?”

  “Yes, sir.” Jeremiah forced himself to keep a straight face. “I’m Lord Knight Jeremiah Kane.”

  Alzedo slapped his forehead. “Alexandra’s husband, of course, why didn’t you say so in the first place? Come in, come in.”

  Alzedo shuffled out of the way and Jeremiah stepped inside. The old man shut the door and led him deeper into the shop. Books covered every flat surface, some in precariously balanced piles reaching halfway to the ceiling. Jeremiah tried to imagine how the old man reached the top books and failed. A twisting path led to a pair of chairs beside a table, a wood stove heated the place to an almost uncomfortable degree.

  Alzado eased himself into one of the chairs and Jeremiah took the other. “I remember when you got your spurs, Alexandra’s father was so proud. It was a shame he died so soon after.”

  Jeremiah nodded. “Alexandra was heartbroken. You should come out to the estate sometime, I’m sure she’d like to talk about the old days.”

  “That sounds nice, but I don’t get around so good anymore. Now, you had business to discuss?”

  “Yes, sir.” Jeremiah took the scroll out his pocket and handed it to the old man. “I took this off the body of a bandit. Alexandra said the language was Torin and she thought you’d know how to translate it for me.”

  Alzado took the scroll and unrolled it. After a moment’s study he said, “That girl always knew her languages. She’s right as rain, that’s Torin. I’ve got a book around here somewhere with a key. If you leave it here I can translate it and have it ready for you in the morning.”

  “Unfortunately I can’t leave evidence with a civilian. Perhaps you can make a copy?”

  The old man snapped his fingers. “Certainly, I just need to find a pen and parchment.”

  Alzado copied the scroll and handed the original back to Jeremiah. “Stop by in the morning and I’ll have it ready for you.”

  “I appreciate it. How much do I owe you?”

  The old man smiled. “For Alexandra’s husband, no charge.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Jeremiah tucked the scroll back into his pocket. He’d be sure to leave the sage a few coins in the morning. “I should be going.”

  Alzado got up and shook hands with Jeremiah. “Say hello to Alexandra for me.”

  “I will. Next time I come to the city I’ll bring her and the boys.”

  * * *

  Eric Ericsson sat in a dark corner of a rundown tavern, a tattered cloak with the hood drawn up hid his face from prying eyes. Not that any of the drunks or addicts gave him a second look. In a place like this minding your own business was good for your health. The pickpocket would arrive soon then he could leave this dump.

  Fifteen minutes later the pickpocket ducked through the door. He spotted Eric at his usual table and rushed over to join him.

  “You’re late,” Eric said.

  “Hey, you want the information or not?”

  “Fine, spill it. What happened?”

  “Happened? Nothing happened. He went to Tristar’s warehouse and returned their stuff, then he wondered around for a while. After a while he went to Alzado’s place.”

  “Alzado?”

  “A sage. A really old sage.”

  “What happened there?” Eric asked.

  “They talked for a minute then went inside. An hour or so later the guy came back out and went to the mansion.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it.”

  “All right, get lost.”

  The thief ran like a kicked dog. He had a little information at least, enough to keep the demon off his back, he hoped. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. The contact came in an instant, the demon anxiety coming through as a nasty pain behind Eric’s eyes.

  Well?

  “Your mercenaries are in my jail. Jeremiah brought them in this morning.”

  The package?

  “I don’t know. He returned the merchant’s goods to them so it’s possible your package was there. He also visited a sage, why I have no idea.”

  Find out, order this man to tell you.

  “I can’t order him, Jeremiah out ranks me.”

  Then what good are you?

  Eric winced as the pain behind his eyes increased. “You have more information than you did,” he said.

  Yes, barely, enough to make me worry. You’ve done enough. I will handle things from here. Tomorrow you will report the sage’s death as a robbery.

  Eric swallowed. “Yes, master.”

  * * *

  The master was in a foul mood, Ick sensed it from his perch on Gorn’s massive shoulder. The great, golden serpent that was Slevas favored form slithered back and forth across the smooth tile, every few minutes looking at the lesser demons like a real cobra might a mouse. A mortal would never guess from looking at the trio that the eight foot serpent commanded a demon the size of Gorn, but Ick knew better. In a race as physically mutable as demons, size meant nothing. Magical power decided who was master and who servant, power and intelligence, Slaves had these in abundance.

  Ick was growing impatient; they’d been waiting for the master to speak for over an hour, not that the little demon would say anything. If the master wished them to stand and watch him slither then they would stand and watch until the end of time.

  Slevas reared up four feet off the floor, his hood flaring. I have decided. Ick, you will sneak into the merchant’s warehouse and search for the package. Gorn, you will go to the sage, find out what the human Kane wanted then kill him.

  Ick flinched as an image of the warehouse appeared in his mind. It was small as such structures went, but it would still take most of the night to search it. A thousand deaths on whoever shielded the chest from his magical sight.

  Ick launched himself off Gorn’s shoulder and flew out one of the windows in the hall. Calling on his innate magic he shifted his form to that of a bat and flittered his way across the city. A few minutes later he entered the warehouse through an open vent high in the rafters. Once inside he shifted again, this time into a rat, he’d noticed over the years that humans seemed to regard rats as another
bit of the city scenery. Though the warehouse was dark Ick had no trouble seeing the stacks of crates, piles of cloth, and boxes, boxes, boxes. A little rat sigh escaped the demon. It was going to be a long night.

  The little demon pawed through the contents of a crate, human garbage. He was halfway down when a door slammed. He scurried out of sight just ahead of the light of a human’s lantern. Ick burrowed into the human’s mind, searching for any sign of the master’s package. He saw the human, Kane, delivering a wagon load of merchandise but no sign of the package.

  Ick let the contact fade. He doubted the package was here. When the human finished whatever he came to do the demon resumed his search. He would search the entire warehouse; his life would be forfeit if he ignored the master’s orders.

  * * *

  Gorn arrived, invisible, on the front steps of the shop his master showed him. The street was empty, even the tavern next door had closed for the night. The demon reared back and kicked down the door, the attack causing his invisibility to fade. He stepped through the wreckage and found the skinny old human the master showed him seated at a desk surrounded by books.

  The human’s head jerked up when Gorn entered. He opened his mouth to scream but Gorn lunged across the room and clamped a clawed hand around his throat, stifling the scream. The demon stared into the human’s eyes and projected his master’s questions into the feeble organ that passed for a brain in the primitive creature. Unlike Ick, Gorn had never bothered to learn to speak the human’s language. His interactions with them tended to be limited to rending them into bite sized chunks.

  In response to Gorn’s telepathic questions the image of the knight appeared handing the old human a scrap of paper. Next he received an image of the old human translating the paper he’d received. The demon looked down at the desk and saw a paper covered with markings that matched those of the mental image taken from the human. That must be what his master wanted. Gorn drove his clawed hand into the human’s chest, ripped out his heart, and tossed the carcass aside. He collected the paper and teleported away with his two trophies.