Formin gulped.
Grant turned to the men holding the two scouts. “Crucify them.”
“Sir?” Formin’s voice took on the distinct tone of a bleating sheep. Tamst still had the good sense to keep his mouth shut. Grant almost spared the man for his silence, but he dismissed the idea. He couldn’t be seen to show favorites, after all.
“Take them away.”
The men struggled as they were pulled from the room, but Colonel Grant was already turning away. The shouts faded as the door was slammed behind them. Grant was left alone with his aide, a square-jawed Lieutenant fresh from the Academy.
Once the door was closed, Grant kicked the wall. “Fuck the gods!”
“This is quite the situation, sir.” Lieutenant Havram stepped forward with his hands clasped behind his back. Grant turned to spit vitriol at the man but stopped himself short. Yelling at Havram would get them nowhere.
“I need to write to the Lord of Ferolan.” Grant sighed and rubbed his temples. “We need to get ahead of this, change the story. Let’s say the girl is a criminal, that we’re pursuing her for crimes against the Empire. Do you think that would work?”
“It might work, sir. How do we explain the slaughter?”
“We don’t.” Grant rubbed his chin. “By the time these ruins are discovered, we will be in Ferolan. By the time word reaches anyone that matters, we will be to sea again and bound for Shundov with the artifact in my possession. There will be suspicion, but no proof. The King of Cambrell may ride against a single company of Red Swords, but he will not risk open war with the whole of the Empire.”
“Should I bring a quill, sir?”
“Yes, and find me somewhere to sit that hasn’t been charred to all Six Hells. She had to go and burn the place, didn’t she? I’ll need to write both to the Lord of Ferolan and make my report to the Emperor. Get me a fast horse and someone willing to ride through the night. Tell the rest of the men to take their ease. We’ll camp here tonight and move north in the morning.”
“Yes, sir.” Havram saluted, fist to chest.
“And Havram?”
The Lieutenant paused on his way out. “Sir?”
“Tell them not to bother erecting a cross. Just nail those two to the side of the barn and have it done. And have the condemned gagged. I don’t care to listen to their screams all night.”
“Yes, sir,” Havram said.
Grant sighed and kicked a burnt piece of detritus across the floor. Things had devolved far past the point they should have. Grant should have been having a civilized meal with the baron after a hard-won negotiation. A true battle of wits between gentlemen, perhaps over the local tea, followed by a shared pipe afterward to bless the transaction—that had been the way Grant had seen it this morning. That had been the plan.
Instead he stood in a charred ruin, surveying the damage his men had wrought. His career would probably end just as the house had, now that this travesty had happened on his watch. The Emperor would not be pleased.
A tentative knock at the door sounded, and Grant called for them to enter. An old woman tottered into the room leading a little girl, brown hair over downcast eyes. Grant’s stomach fluttered when he saw her, but the girl kept her eyes to the floor and said nothing.
The child looked so familiar, so much like her.
The old woman shot him a hateful glance, but she hid it as soon as Grant noticed. Grant knew the old hag hated him, and he accepted that. Her hatred, in the end, meant nothing.
His arm muscles tightened at the sight of the girl, and his knuckles cracked as he tightened his fists. The cloaked man had given Grant an unexpected gift in her, though he couldn’t have known the hold she would have over him. He was supposed to be taking her back to Shundov, but as every day passed, he questioned that course of action.
Whatever the cloaked man wanted with the girl, it wouldn’t be pleasant.
As much as Grant wanted to protect her, it could not be. The cloaked man was more dangerous than anyone Grant had ever had the misfortune to become tangled with, and he had some vague connection with the Emperor. Grant would never be able to keep the girl from him. Still, he shivered as he regarded the youngling.
“Take her to the kitchens,” he grunted. The kitchens were made of stone, and as such, had survived the blaze. The stone would hold in the screams, as well, which would serve to keep things a bit more discreet. His eyes were locked to the little girl.
Someone had to be punished, after all.
***
The mystery girl’s name was Shawna.
That was what her cousin—Alton Dersham—had told Dormael. It had been quite the scene when Dormael had finally found the Dersham household. Alton was a rich man, and his household guards had been understandably suspicious of the outlander towing in the Lord’s wounded cousin. There had been a tense moment, but once the dangerous nature of Shawna’s wound had been realized, everyone had concentrated on her. The manor had risen into an uproar. They probably didn’t get much excitement on most days.
Alton Dersham was a man of medium height with a chiseled jawline and hair as brown as mud. He had a self-assured and distinguished air, though it wasn’t quite arrogance. Alton had interrogated Dormael about what happened, but Dormael hadn’t been able to tell him much. Once Dormael had answered Alton’s questions to his satisfaction, or at least to exhaustion, he had been offered a room for the night.
A loud knocking jolted Dormael from his sleep the next morning.
He grumbled under his breath, blinking in the sunlight streaming through the window. The bedding wasn’t the softest in the world, but Dormael was used to sleeping on the road, and it felt like a dream. Dormael’s eyes drifted closed again as the soft mattress pulled him into lassitude. The knocking came again, more insistent this time, and Dormael sighed and tossed away the sheets.
Alton Dersham’s serious face greeted him when he opened the door.
“Did you get some rest?” Alton grimaced at the sight of Dormael’s shirtless, disheveled appearance. “You look like you’ve been dragged behind a horse. You’ve still got some of Shawna’s blood on you.”
Dormael squinted down at his hands, blinking his eyes into focus. Alton was right—dried blood was soaked into the creases of his hands and smeared on his forearms.
“I hope I didn’t ruin your bedding.” He tried an apologetic smile.
“It’s nothing to worry about. Do you mind?” Alton gestured into the room.
Dormael stepped aside and opened the door. “No, of course not. It’s your house, after all.”
Alton smiled. “True enough.”
Alton stepped into the room and ran his eyes over Dormael’s belongings. The quarterstaff leaned over Dormael’s rucksack, while the guitar case was covered with his cloak. Alton raised his eyebrows when he saw the number of knives and daggers Dormael had tossed on top of the cloak when he had disrobed.
“You must lead quite the interesting life.” Alton turned back to face him.
“Interesting is a word for it.” Dormael smiled. “I could think of a few others, though. How’s the girl—Shawna, right?”
Alton sighed and his shoulders relaxed. “She made it through the night. The healer said it had to be the favor of the gods that she lived. She lost a lot of blood, and she’s fatigued from the cold and whatever else came out of the Void upon her.”
Was it the favor of the gods, or the raw magical power Dormael had pumped into her body? Had his efforts with magic helped at all? In his experience it was never wise to reveal his gift to anyone in the east. Prejudices ran deep, even in a moneyed and peaceful kingdom like Cambrell. Most on the continent of Alderak despised magic, and Dormael preferred to avoid being abducted and burnt to death.
“Will she live?”
“We can hope.” Alton flicked a weak smile. “The healer is keeping her drugged with a sleeping tincture. She says her body is struggling to stay alive, so only the gods know what will happen.”
“What do you think
happened to her?”
Alton frowned. “I don’t know. I’ve sent riders to her family’s estate. We should know something in a couple of days. Whatever it was, it can’t be good. Her father’s barony lies on the fringes of the kingdom. It’s something of a backwater, but a peaceful one.”
“I…didn’t say anything to the authorities on the way into the city. I hid her identity,” Dormael said. “I wasn’t sure who she was, or what had happened, so I thought it best to keep things discreet. No one else knows she’s here.”
“I’m not sure it was necessary, but thanks.” Alton gave Dormael a wary look. “I can’t imagine she was involved in anything criminal.”
Dormael shrugged. “Always better to be sure. Someone put that arrow through her—someone who didn’t care much for her noble blood. That could mean brigands, sure, but it could also mean someone powerful.”
“I hadn’t thought of that, but you have a point. Baron Llewan was well liked. His horses are the pride of the nobility all over Cambrell. The king himself has one.”
“It may not be my place to speculate,” Dormael ventured, moving to sit on the bed, “but it sounds to me like he wasn’t the kind of man one would cross so openly without the risk of being exposed. Is there any reason his daughter would be traipsing around the countryside at night, armed like a mercenary on campaign?”
“Shawna was…infamous…amongst the country nobility.” Alton sighed. “She learned the sword, you know. It’s not unheard of for a lady to learn to fence here in Cambrell, but a noble lady that becomes a Marked Blademaster is a rare thing.”
Dormael blinked at Alton. “She earned the Mark? Impressive. I guess that could explain something.”
“Shawna was eldest, but only because a plague took her older brother.” Alton shook his head. “She was in line to become sole heir to her father’s barony, so there’s no reason she would have been alone out there. Perhaps she was traveling, or…I don’t know.”
“Armed the way she was, though?” Dormael gestured vaguely to the south. “And I didn’t see anyone else out there. If there was a party she was traveling with, they were nowhere near when I found her. She was alone, and she’d been on the road for awhile. Her horse was nearly dead from exhaustion. She was running from something.”
Alton fixed Dormael with a considering gaze. “Once word returns with my men, I can write the King with a clear report of what happened. For now, I’ve already warned his Majesty’s patrolmen there’s violence in the south.”
“If this is some type of conspiracy, they’ll be able to trace that request back to you.” Dormael couldn’t stop himself from pointing that out, though he worried he was overstepping. “If someone’s after her, they could track her that way.”
“You have a dark turn of mind, my friend. An interesting life, indeed.”
Dormael shrugged.
“Why did you help her?” Alton regarded Dormael with suspicion. “Many people would have stolen her belongings, perhaps finished the job the arrow started. Some would kidnap her and hold her ransom, if they could keep her alive. The horse alone is worth more than most people see in their entire lifetimes. You appear to have no ties to this place, so what is it that interests you?”
Dormael shrugged again. “Whatever I am, I’m no thief. I couldn’t just leave her to bleed out on the road. I figured whoever she was, she’d made a heroic effort to reach the city. What kind of bastard would I be if I had disregarded such a thing?”
“You don’t strike me as the religious type.” Alton smirked, gesturing at the knives.
“Not particularly.” Dormael smiled, shaking his head. “Let’s just say there are levels of shit I don’t care to wade into, if you know what I mean.”
“I think I understand,” Alton said, snickering under his breath. He took a deep breath and relaxed his posture. “You saved her life. If her tragedy runs deep enough, you may have saved her family’s lineage. That’s no small thing.”
“I didn’t know who she was.” Dormael shrugged and looked away. Alton was probably about to offer him money and send him on his way. If that happened, he would have to watch the girl from afar. He had to know what had awakened his magic, but he dared not reveal his true motivations to Alton.
“Still, if you require a boon of me, all you need to do is ask. You may have noticed I’m quite wealthy. Anything you feel that you deserve—within reason, of course—is possible. You’ve earned it.”
Dormael took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m not interested in money. I am, however, interested in the outcome of her story. I’d like to stick around until she wakes up. It was quite the ordeal getting her here. I’d honestly just like to talk to her. Find out what happened.”
“That’s really all you want? She may not wake, you know.”
“I know. I’m not asking for your hospitality. If you wish, I can find a room in the city.” Dormael shrugged. “I don’t mean to take advantage of you.”
“Nonsense.” Alton held up a hand and shook his head. “I’ve an abundance of rooms and no need to collect rent for them. You’ve earned that much, at least. I’ll have my staff collect your things and move you to a more suitable room—and pour you a bath, as well. No offense, but you stink.”
“I can only agree with you about that.” Dormael grimaced. “Thank you.”
“It’s nothing. I’ve business to attend, but I’d like to speak to you later.” Alton gave him a friendly smile. “Have my chamberlain direct you to my study this evening. You’re free to seek food in the kitchens, as well.”
“Where do I find your chamberlain?”
“Her name is Nan, and don’t worry—she’ll find you.” Alton smiled and gave a formal nod as he left.
As it turned out, the matronly old chamberlain was waiting outside. She bustled him out of the room and up two flights of stairs to the third floor of the manor. When the old woman deposited him into one of the larger suites on the top floor, there was already a steaming bath waiting for Dormael in a copper tub. Once Nan had collected his dirty clothing and departed the room, he leaped into the bath.
He hadn’t realized how filthy he was until the water soaked into his skin. Dormael had been at sea for many days, and he’d gone straight from the docks to the tavern. The sea left a salty layer of grime on a man, and it still clung to Dormael’s skin. After the adventure of the previous night, he’d been left covered in dirt and blood, as well. Once the heat had soaked into his bones, Dormael scrubbed himself clean and relaxed in the water.
This Alton Dersham is wealthy, indeed.
The floor in Dormael’s new suite was paneled with pleasant, dark wood. A tan plaster was covering the walls, which gave the room a peaceful feeling. Two large windows looked over the city of Ferolan and the sea beyond. Dormael rarely had a chance to stay in such pleasant settings, and he savored the luxury.
While his body relaxed, he opened his Kai and let his magical senses listen to the world around him. Alton’s home had a quiet, efficient energy buzzing through it. It was a sprawling place, and Dormael’s magic touched upon a small brigade of servants and a modest number of personal guardsmen. He could sense a feeling of anxiety hovering about the estate, though, like a discordant note buried in a symphony.
Everyone’s probably worked up over last night.
His pushed his senses through the manor and sought out Shawna. The strange power that had hovered around her was silent. Dormael listened hard for it, but his Kai could detect nothing. Since the attack in the alleyway, his magic had behaved as normal, and no trace of the other song had been present.
Shawna still had a tenuous hold on life. She returned troubled sensations to his magic, as if she was dreaming and lashing out in her sleep. Another presence was in the room with the girl—perhaps the healer, or a servant tasked with watching her.
A noble daughter of Cambrell and a Marked Blademaster. Who are you, Shawna Llewan?
When evening rolled around, Dormael was led to the top of the manor’s only
tower, where Alton kept his office. Nan had sent a young girl in her place—a pretty blonde named Lyssa. Dormael spent the walk making overt glances at her, hoping she would blush. He was rewarded with rosy cheeks and a mortified expression, which he repaid with a wink. Lyssa refused to look at him after that, which made Dormael chuckle.
She admitted him into Alton’s study, and scurried off down the stairs.
“Come in.” Alton smiled. “Pull up a chair.”
Three full walls of the man’s study were given over for bookshelves, and they were filled with tomes of all shapes and sizes. Books weren’t easy to come by, and Alton Dersham was displaying a veritable fortune. Dormael had seen scholars with more modest collections. In the floor between the bookshelves was a large desk made of polished wood.
The other half of the room was a sitting area. An expansive window looked over the harbor, the city’s lights scattered along the hillside like distant candles. A brick fireplace occupied one wall, and a pair of chairs with an ornate stones board sat in front of it. A small table held an ashtray and a pair of mugs made of unblemished glass. A decanter sat between them.
Alton gestured toward the stones board. “Do you play?”
“I’ve been known to move a stone or two.” Dormael smiled.
“It’s hard to get anyone to play around here.” Alton gestured at the door. “Most of my household has no appreciation for the game. Where did you learn it?”
Dormael shrugged. “One learns things on the road. I can’t remember if a wagoneer taught me, or if I picked it up elsewhere.”
Alton poured Dormael a drink—a smooth, golden firewine—and the two of them spent some time setting up the field. Dormael chose white against Alton’s black, and soon the game was underway. Alton played a conservative game, protecting what territory he claimed by placing his stones where they could support one another. Dormael found a weakness in his placement and broke his line with an all-out assault, forcing him to split his forces. Alton’s defense disentigrated, and Dormael wiped him from the board.
Child of the Flames (The Seven Signs Book 1) Page 6
