Evadrel nodded, once, and made the sign for luck.
* * *
Evadrel was the last to be interviewed. Morticai sat outside Kirwin’s office, waiting for permission to leave. Coryden, Dualas, and Berret Heimrik waited with him. Berret, one of the few humans who served in Coryden’s patrol, had been the sergeant of Morticai’s squad for several years.
The interviews had lasted ten hours; Morticai had watched his entire squad file through, one at a time. Kirwin had taken over his second’s office in an attempt to recover at least a portion of the day.
News that the Inquisition was at Northgate had spread like wildfire. The atmosphere was, at the same time, too quiet and too much abuzz to be normal. Because of the patrol schedules, the news would reach Dynolva in just a few days. Morticai was thankful he didn’t have to patrol in Dynolva himself—the Levani only knew how the story would sound by the time it reached the corryn city.
At last, Evadrel emerged. Some of the squad members had come out obviously shaken, but most had walked out defiantly. Evadrel smiled reassuringly as he passed them.
The human who had introduced himself as Geradon Kinsey, Faithful from the Inquisition at Abbadyr and aide to Inquisitor Rylan Glaedwin, emerged just behind Evadrel. He was of average height and build, with sharp features and a closely cropped beard. His hair was a dark blond, his eyes a brilliant blue. He dressed in tasteful and well-made but not fashionable clothes. To Morticai, he looked more like a successful merchant than an aide to an Inquisitor.
Kinsey raised his eyebrows as he surveyed the three men who had remained to wait with Morticai.
“I should not need to speak with you further—today,” he said to Morticai. “I understand you have two more days off duty before you are scheduled to patrol again. I do not know yet if we shall allow you to continue patrolling or not—that is a question the Inquisitor will address when he arrives in a few days. In the meantime, be certain that you remain in Watchaven. Good night.”
Kinsey nodded curtly and walked out without addressing so much as a word to the others. Morticai slumped in his chair.
As they climbed the stairs to Morticai’s room, they ignored the questioning glances they received from those they passed. It was Berret who finally broke the silence.
“I sure wish you would let me in on these things earlier, Morticai.”
“I didn’t want to involve you, Berret. It’s not that I don’t trust you. Really.”
“I suppose I should be thankful. I’d still like to hear what in the Darkness is going on, though.”
“Yeah—but upstairs,” Morticai replied.
Berret placed an arm around Morticai’s shoulder as they passed through the attic storage rooms.
A buzz of noise filtered toward them as they approached Morticai’s door. The four stopped and exchanged knowing glances—Coryden’s patrol had apparently gathered in Morticai’s room, as was usual in times of trouble. Coryden opened the door.
More than just Coryden’s patrol crowded the room. Apparently, anyone who considered himself a friend of the patrol had gathered there as well. Coryden addressed them.
“I know you’ve all got questions, but they’ll just have to wait a little longer. I’d like everyone to leave except those who were actually questioned by Brother Kinsey.”
The crowd reacted as expected—they filed out of the room, muttering softly among themselves. Coryden’s jaw dropped as he watched a human in the exiting group pass. The man stood almost seven feet tall—even Dualas had to stare up at him. He had short, curly hair, dark brown eyes, and his tremendous musculature wouldn’t have been out place on a heroic statue. He had to duck to clear the doorframe as he left.
One of Coryden’s men stepped up beside him and said, “That’s Richard, one of the new men who joined last week, sir. He’s from Briarwood.”
“I hope you don’t mind that I brought him here,” he continued. “He’d like to join our patrol if Alvis decides to move back to Dynolva. I thought it better for him to hear rumors from us than rumors from the rest of Northgate.”
Coryden blinked. “Can he fight?” he asked.
“Who cares? Do you want to spar with him? I don’t.”
“I see what you mean. Gods, he’s big enough to serve as a mobile rampart.”
It was hours later before the rest of the squad left for their own quarters, leaving only Coryden and Dualas behind. Coryden had done most of the talking. Giving no details, he simply explained that Morticai might have stumbled across some sort of Droken plot, which had brought in the Inquisition. Most of the conversation had centered around what questions had been asked and what answers had been given. Morticai sat crossways in an old, large chair, having pulled further and further within himself as the evening had progressed.
Coryden walked to the liquor trunk, retrieved a bottle, and poured glasses for the three of them. He knelt beside Morticai’s chair.
“You going to come back to the world?”
Morticai smiled crookedly and took the drink.
“What for?”
“So we can decide what we’re going to do.”
Dualas pulled up chairs for himself and Coryden.
“So,” Dualas asked softly, “what do we do now?”
“Well,” Morticai began, “I happen to have a meeting scheduled with Fenton tomorrow, and if you gentlemen are willing to accompany me, we might just gain some useful information.”
Both Dualas and Coryden stared at him in surprise.
“What’s wrong?”
“You’re going to keep this up?” Coryden asked. “After today, you’re going to meet with Fenton?”
Morticai waved his hands, spilling a few drops of his drink. “Why not? What is there to lose? What else can happen—is the Inquisition going to show up? They already have!”
* * *
The Hilltop Tavern was crowded with patrons, both local and foreign, who were enjoying the music and food the famous tavern offered. Geradon Kinsey moved through the crowd, barely avoiding being caught up in a circle dance. He noted that the Watchaveners certainly seemed to enjoy enjoying themselves.
The mood was quieter on the back side of the L-shaped tavern where the private booths were located. Moving to the far back booth, he knocked lightly before opening the door. A man in his early thirties smiled up at him. His straight hair was dark brown; his eyes a warm hazel, and his smile looked comfortable, as though it was worn often.
The table was already set with food in covered dishes. Geradon sat down as the man lit a candle. The white candle was ringed with narrow gold bands—one band every inch—and stood in an ornate candlestick in the center of the table. As the candle burst into flame the noise outside the booth died. It was as though the tavern itself ceased to exist.
“We do not have to worry about our neighbors?” Geradon asked, gesturing to the booth around them. He lifted a dish cover and began serving himself.
“No, I have already paid the bartender to make certain we are left alone and that no one will be allowed back this far.”
Geradon gestured to the food. “Have you eaten, Rylan?”
“Yes,” the Inquisitor replied. “Well,” he asked, “how did it go?”
Geradon leaned back in the booth and sighed. “It looks like it’s going to be interesting, I’ll grant that …”
“So his hatred of the Droken is not well known?” Rylan asked. He lay Morticai’s Northmarch file down on the table.
“Not known at all,” Geradon replied as he placed his now-empty plate to the side. “And once I learned he had grown up in the streets a few things did fall into place—it explained his cocky attitude, anyway.”
“Yes,” Rylan agreed with a knowing smile. “First rule—never show weakness in front of your enemy.”
“Precisely. I am very sorry to say that he reminds me of that vagabond we dealt w
ith last month in Tradelenor.”
Rylan’s brow furrowed. “How?”
“My fear is that he will get himself killed before we can track down Aldwin’s superiors. I tried to convince him of the danger of what he is doing, but danger is too much a part of his life in the Northmarch. I really doubt my little speech had any impact. How about you? What did you learn?”
“Well, he has rubbed against the Watch a few times, but has never actually been jailed. It seems that Captain Coryden has intervened when needed.”
“What type of trouble?”
“Primarily problems resulting from women and gambling—fits very nicely with what you heard. Lord Ullock tried to jail him over an affair concerning a certain lady, but the charges were dropped. He has fought a few duels. When he was a child, he was caught several times picking pockets and stealing food. He was sent to the orphanage, but he apparently ran away before he ever reached their doors.”
Geradon shook his head, bemused. “Can it be this straightforward? Is this a simple case of revenge upon his part?”
“It may be just that. Did you find out how he came to suspect Aldwin?”
“Yes, Dualas told me. Apparently he just stumbled onto it. He found a coded note at a party and watched two noblemen, ah …” Geradon pulled out his notes, “Sir Ellenwood and Lord Valdir—“
“Those are the two Sir Dualas reported to the Grand Patriarch,” Rylan interjected.
Geradon nodded, “—retrieve the note, copy it, and return it to where it was hidden. Morticai decided to take the note at the end of the evening, but it was gone. So—and listen to this—because he was curious about it, he broke into Valdir’s estate while Valdir was out of town. He supposedly found Droken robes in his closet.”
Rylan shook his head. “Unfortunately, I would be inclined to believe his claims about the Droken robes. I looked over some of the recent Trade Council records today. The three noblemen in question are certainly up to something, and it does not look good for king or country. So, did you stir up the Northmarch appropriately?”
“Oh yes. Any Droken spies in the Northmarch are certainly aware that the Inquisition has arrived. They should think we suspect this Morticai of being Droken.”
“Did you notice any friction between the corryn and humans in the Northmarch?”
“No. Do you think the situation is that volatile?”
“It is quickly moving in that direction, I am afraid. Not much blood has been spilled yet, but the reports from the Watch do show an increase in brawls and the like between humans and corryn. I suspect it would be worse, except that many from Dynolva and Menelcar have decided that this is a good time to travel back home to visit their friends and relatives. Apparently the Watchaveners, in Dynolva at least, are doing the same. Our innkeeper told me this morning that the amount of business we are seeing here is very unusual; he said it is almost as though Dark Season had not ended.”
“Hmm. That isn’t good to hear. The kingdoms are polarizing.”
“Yes, although so far, Menelcar has managed to stay out of it. And all of this is because of manipulation of the Trade Council.”
Geradon shook his head. “It’s truly frightening. I might have expected something like this between Tradelenor and Lorredre, but here? What about the monarchs? The Trade Council cannot pass any new regulations or tariffs without their approval, can they?”
“You are right, the monarchs in both kingdoms must approve the actions of their Councils. But the nobility hold so little power that the nobles would consider it a dire threat if the monarch interfered. And I believe the monarchs are aware of that. In any event, the manipulation is occurring on such a subtle level that I doubt they have any quarrels with how their Councils are proceeding.”
“What of the Confederacy? Is there any talk of involving the Great Council?”
“Not yet. The Great Council will stay out of it if at all possible. Dynolva and Watchaven have been stable for so long, I believe they think this is nothing more than a minor trade squabble. Thanks to Locguard, these frontier kingdoms have a reputation for a lot of shield thumping.”
“Unfortunately,” Rylan continued, “that has never been true of these two kingdoms, but I doubt that any on the Great Council, particularly the southern kings, realize that they are any different from Locguard. And of course, the Great Council will not meet until the Day of Aluntas. Who can say what will happen between now and then?”
“How can we stop it?” Geradon asked.
“The question is not how can we stop it, but how can we prove it? There is the problem. How is Richard doing?”
“He joined the Northmarch about a week ago and has taken up quarters with Morticai’s squad members. He’s trying to stay as close as possible. The problem is that Morticai does not bunk with the rest of his squad.”
“What? Why not?”
“I never really found out why, but Morticai sleeps in the attic.”
Rylan laughed. “Why not? Former street urchin, former thief, former loner … you were right, it looks like this is going to be interesting. I just wish it weren’t so serious.”
With that, Rylan blew out their candle. The noise from without instantly flooded back.
Chapter Seven
Prince Luthekar waited impatiently for evening service to end. At last, the door opened and the High Priest entered. “This had best be important,” the prince said. He didn’t bother to hide his irritation.
The High Priest stopped, midway to the chair before his desk, and tilted his masked head. “Do you think I would bother you with something trivial?”
“I have much to tend to, and coming here is awkward. I presume something urgent has developed since our last meeting.”
“Yes.” The High Priest sat down in the chair before his desk—Luthekar already sat in the chair behind it.
“Something I thought you would want to know about Lord Aldwin. He has passed some information down the chains in hopes of learning more about his thief.”
“He withheld information?”
“Well, let us say, he has not been as honest as he should have been. He apparently recovered a dagger and some rope that the thief left behind. Rather than share that bit of information with us he went to a local witch named Madam Luvena. He learned from her that the thief is a member of Watchaven’s Northmarch, and that the man is a corryn orphan.”
“The Northmarch? Indeed, this is troublesome news. This witch needs to be visited again.”
“That has already been seen to.”
The High Priest rose and opened the door that led to the temple. A lovely, dark-eyed woman came into the room. She smoothly slid into the chair before the desk and smiled seductively at Luthekar.
“Cwena?” Luthekar asked, smiling.
“What do you think, my Lord? Is this form not pleasant?” She flipped the long hair behind the chair.
“Yes, it is—quite different from your usual shape. Does the witch still live?”
“Unfortunately not. I would have liked to have kept this form, but now I can only make it last a few days.”
“Do not worry, Cwena. As you gain more experience you shall find that you will be able to retain the shapes of those you feed on for longer periods of time. Eventually, you will be able to recall any of them.”
Cwena smiled again. It was a cold, feral smile, a parody of the smiles that had graced Madam Luvena’s lips.
“Were you able to learn more from the witch as you fed?” Luthekar continued.
“Yes, my Lord, but only one, small thing, I am afraid. The corryn thief was working alone.”
“Are you certain? He was not working on behalf of the Northmarch?”
“Yes, I am certain. He was working alone. It was something the witch determined after Lord Aldwin left her. Aldwin had been fearful that the Northmarch was behind it, or so Madam Luvena believed, so she
recast the spell, looking for that particular thing.”
Luthekar leaned back and laughed a cold laugh.
“Good news, is it not?” the High Priest asked.
“Yes, very good news. So, if Madam Luvena was correct, our thief must be using his position in the Northmarch to conceal his criminal activities—perhaps even to further them.
“Indeed, if the witch was correct,” the High Priest agreed.
“And our man in the Northmarch?”
“Unfortunately, he is out on patrol. He should be returning from Dynolva even now, should arrive back in Watchaven in three days. As soon as he gets in, I shall set him to discover the name of the thief.”
“Excellent. We have worked far too hard to reach this stage. It has taken too long to convince the nobility to fight against the yoke that the Faith has placed upon them. I shall not tolerate even a small blemish on this campaign.”
“However,” the High Priest said, “this still leaves us the problem of Lord Aldwin. Should we deal with him now?”
Luthekar waved a hand. “Let it wait. The man has been barely competent through this whole affair. It will be a pleasure to see him die, but it can easily wait. Before long, the Trade Council will cease to be important—Watchaven and Dynolva will be at war.”
* * *
Morticai tried to hail the serving girl. She moved back to the bar, oblivious to his signaling. Morticai sighed and squinted across the table at the knight. “Dualas, this is ridiculous! How do you ever get served here?”
Dualas raised his eyebrows. “I have never had any difficulty. But, of course, I do not normally come at this time of day.”
Coryden tapped his glass impatiently. “Morticai, I don’t understand why you had to wait until now to eat. You should have eaten in the mess hall, long before we came here.”
“Are you kidding? When I walked in there this morning for breakfast, you’d have thought I was Glawres himself! Everyone stopped eating so they could stare. At least here I’m not being treated as though I’m a condemned man.”
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