Your humble servant, Danvek.”
His next letter was more difficult, but then, Lord Danvek had always found the Droken codebook to be a great bother.
Chapter Eight
Rylan Glaedwin had just laid the results of his research on the table when a knock sounded at the door. Geradon returned with a frown on his lips and a piece of paper in his hand.
“What is it?” Rylan asked.
“A message from Richard,” Geradon replied. “This is the second night in a row that our three Droken hunters have left together. I tell you, Rylan, those three are up to something.”
“You think Sir Dualas withheld something?”
“No, he told me what he knew—at the time. My thought is that they are pursuing something new.”
“Surely not!”
“I would not put anything past Morticai.”
“Perhaps you should go to Northgate and have a little chat with them when they return.”
“I suppose I should. I am sorry, Rylan, I was hoping to work with you this evening.”
Rylan smiled. “Well, in a few days the ‘Inquisitor’ shall officially arrive and then I shall have a few words with them myself. Be careful. I shall wait up for you.”
* * *
“You actually grew up in this section of town?” Dualas asked as he cautiously eyed their surroundings. They walked toward Burnaby Manor, skirting the edge of the Pit. Ahead, shadowy figures ducked into doorways as they approached.
“Yeah,” Morticai replied. “Of course, it wasn’t this bad then.”
“How much farther to this place?” Coryden asked.
“Oh, uh, just a few blocks now. Ya see, Burnaby Manor isn’t really in the Snake Pit, it’s on the edge.”
“That is comforting to hear,” Dualas noted as he eyed the rat pacing them along the top of a nearby wall.
The alley before them suddenly narrowed. The rat disappeared into a hole. Morticai stopped.
“All right, we’re getting close. The alleys around the Manor are tight and there are a lot of turns. That’s why this was such a great place when I was small—it was good for hiding from big folk. With the current rumors about the manor, I doubt anyone will bother us.”
Coryden glanced heavenward. Dualas nodded in silent agreement and made a gesture of blessing. They had taken only a few steps when Morticai stopped, looking back at them disapprovingly. Coryden and Dualas exchanged glances, uncertain why he had stopped.
“Think you could put your hoods up? It’s bad enough that your armor can be heard three blocks away—let’s not flaunt it any more than necessary.”
Coryden and Dualas raised their cloak hoods. “I wish you’d worn more than that damned Tradelenor armor!” Coryden complained back at Morticai. “It won’t stop anything—it’s women’s armor!”
“You’re wearing armor?” Dualas asked in surprise.
Morticai smiled and raised his shirt cuff. Beneath it, a finely wrought chain armor shirt shimmered in the moonlight. “Yes. And Coryden is wrong. It’s not ‘women’s armor.’ True, it won’t stop a broadsword but that’s not what it’s designed for—it’s designed to stop lighter weapons like knives, and it does quite well for the City.”
Morticai turned and started away again. Coryden looked at Dualas and shook his head in disagreement.
They passed quickly through the tangle of alleys. Morticai put an arm out and stopped them as the alley opened onto a small plaza. Ahead, Burnaby Manor lay, awash in Bemalor’s moonlight.
It was as large as the finest estates that stood by the palace. Years of neglect had destroyed much of its former beauty, but the carved pillars and intricate architecture cried out in memory of its faded majesty. The gate was a pile of rotted wood, but the granite pillars still stood as silent sentries to either side of the portal. Despite the crowded conditions of the slums around it, no one had dared to build so much as a lean-to on the Manor’s lawn of rubble and weeds. Coryden and Dualas both stopped, impressed by the unexpected sight of the ruin.
“It must have been tremendous in its day,” Dualas whispered.
“Yeah, so they say,” Morticai replied. “Come on, I want to see if something is still here.”
They cautiously circled the Manor, ducking in and out of the alleys that fed toward it. The streets began to slope, and it was only then that Coryden and Dualas realized that the Manor was built on a bluff. Because of the crowded buildings that surrounded it on three sides, they had not noticed the night sky behind it. Its upper floors must have offered a grand view of the harbor.
As they came to the rear of the Manor, the wall of rock that rose up beside them obscured their view of it. Rock had fallen from the edge of the bluff, and loose piles of rubble and brush choked the narrow alley. Several times, Morticai stopped and looked around carefully. Finally, Coryden could stand it no longer.
“Are you lost, Morticai?” he whispered.
Morticai looked back, surprised. “Of course not!”
Coryden did not know whether or not to believe him. They eventually stopped, however, as the short corryn turned his attention to the bluff beside them. With a flourish he brushed aside a tangle of honey-star vines to reveal a rough-hewn tunnel that stretched away into the rock. Broken hinges were all that remained to indicate that the entrance had once had doors to protect it. Although not large enough for a carriage, the tunnel was certainly large enough for a horse to enter.
“Aha! It’s still here!”
“You’re not going in there, are you?” Coryden asked.
“It’s better than knocking on the front door.”
Coryden and Dualas exchanged uncertain glances.
“This leads into the Manor house itself?” Dualas asked.
“Well, it used to. I honestly don’t know if it still does or not. It’s been about fifty years since I used it.”
“Did you bring light?”
“Light is easy.” Morticai reached down and quickly wrapped a bundle of dried brush together around the end of a stick. Pulling out his tinderbox, he quickly lit the brush. “See? Instant torch. Now, I promise I won’t go into the Manor itself. I just want to see if the tunnel is still clear. Y’know, it may not be worth our time. But, if it is clear, it will not only save us a lot of time, but it may be a lot safer than the way Fenton’s friends used to get in.”
“How do you know they didn’t use the tunnel, too?” Dualas asked.
“I don’t, not for certain. But I doubt it. It’s amazing how few people have ever known about it. And this alley still looks as abandoned as ever.”
“Can we hear Grandhaven clock from here?” Coryden asked.
“I heard it,” Dualas announced.
“Then,” Coryden continued, “if it chimes twice and you’re not back, we’ll come in and find you.”
Morticai sighed. “Okay. This shouldn’t take long.” He entered the musty tunnel as Dualas and Coryden watched. He’d only taken a few steps when he stopped and looked back at them. “Watch out for falling rocks,” he said. Then he turned and continued down the tunnel.
“How heartening,” Dualas remarked, glancing upward.
“You know, Dualas,” Coryden said as he let the vines fall back over the tunnel’s opening, “I used to think I was mad for letting Morticai involve me in things like this.” He smiled. “At least now I know I’m not the only one.”
Dualas regarded him a moment, but before he could answer, the ringing clash of swordplay issued from within the tunnel. The peals were quick and sharp—someone was pressing a strong attack. They both tore the vines aside to enter, but Morticai was already at the mouth of the tunnel, quickly backing toward them and desperately defending himself against his attacker. As soon as Morticai came into the moonlight, he threw his makeshift torch to the ground to draw his dagger.
It was a corryn who emerged behind the long
sword that flashed so quickly about Morticai’s blade. Without hesitation, the swordsman included the waiting Coryden and Dualas within the pattern of his fast sword strokes. The man was taller than Dualas, and he wore his silver hair pulled back and braided. He wore no armor, but he carried a shield on his well-muscled left arm. He flicked the shield up and down, easily blocking Dualas’s blows.
Coryden watched for an opening as he and Morticai pressed in, but the silver-haired corryn not only defended against their attacking swings, he replied with his own attacks, keeping them as much on the defensive as offensive. Coryden had seen many a knight lose in battle to Dualas’ smooth style; this man acted as though they could fight no better than children.
Then, the warrior took a step forward. Instantly, Morticai slid to the left to move behind the tall corryn. Coryden’s blow struck solidly against the warrior’s shield. In what looked to be a planned move, the tall corryn pivoted, his shield solidly defending against Dualas and Coryden as his bright blade swept down in a fast arc toward Morticai’s right side.
Morticai brought his dagger to the right. Coryden saw the enemy’s blade defeat the parry, slip by Morticai’s dagger, and slash into Morticai’s side. An instant later, Coryden found himself flying backward—the enemy had slammed his shield into his Coryden’s face with a force he’d not thought possible. Head ringing, he scrambled to his knees, only to see the silver-haired warrior disappearing down the alley. Morticai was on his knees, leaning against the rock wall, holding his side.
Dualas leaped over Morticai with apparent thoughts of giving chase.
“Dualas!” Coryden yelled. “Morticai’s been cut!”
Instantly, Dualas turned to Morticai, abandoning thoughts of pursuit. Coryden was there an instant later. Morticai’s eyes were squeezed shut and he breathed in small, shallow breaths.
“Morticai, let me see,” Dualas said as he tried to pry his hand away from the rent in the light mail shirt. Finally, Morticai complied. Dualas quickly inspected the wound and then clamped his own hand over it.
“It does not appear very deep, but it is bleeding freely. We need to bind it—soon.”
They helped Morticai to his feet, and with both of them supporting him, they started to turn to go back the way they had come.
“No … other way … it’s quicker,” Morticai whispered.
They turned around and began slowly moving north.
“Don’t get us lost, Morticai,” Coryden cautioned. “We can’t afford the time.”
“Go to … the … Cobblesend. It’s close.”
“The what?” Dualas asked.
“The Cobblesend,” Coryden replied. “I’ve never been there, but I’ve heard him talk about it—it’s a tavern.”
“How far is it?” Dualas asked Morticai.
“Not … too far. Take … the first left.”
* * *
Kithryl jumped when the sharp rap sounded at the back door.
“Who’s there?” she asked through the closed door.
“A knight of the Faith, very much in need, madam,” came the muffled reply.
A knight of the Faith? she thought. Here? She cracked the door. “Dyluth!” she cried, flinging the door open.
Morticai looked up and tried to smile. The pain in his dark blue eyes was obvious. His attempted smile didn’t quite come off.
“Need some help … I’m afraid.”
Kithryl clasped her hands to her mouth and ran back inside the Cobblesend, leaving the door open.
Dualas and Coryden carefully maneuvered Morticai through the back door. Kithryl returned and threw a blanket on the kitchen floor.
“I’m sorry, but we have no beds here,” she apologized.
“This will do quite well,” Dualas replied as they moved Morticai onto the blanket. “Thank you, dear lady.”
Coryden supported Morticai’s head as Dualas laid Morticai’s cloak open—the bandages were blood soaked. Kithryl gasped.
“Quickly!” Dualas said to Kithryl. “We shall need something to use for bandages! Hurry!”
Kithryl jumped like a startled rabbit and ran from the room.
“He should not still be bleeding like this,” Dualas whispered. “He would not have made it to Northgate.”
Coryden sat back as the implication sank in. Dualas was quickly undoing the ripped section of surcoat they’d used as an emergency bandage. Kithryl ran back into the room, her arms laden with what appeared to be new tablecloths.
Dualas finished removing the bandage, Morticai’s slashed jacket, and the ruined chain mail. Coryden saw for himself that the wound was not deep, although it was over a hand’s width in length. It was still bleeding profusely—it had not slowed from when he had first glimpsed it in the alley. Without hesitation, Dualas grabbed a tablecloth, folded it, and clamped it tightly over the wound.
A black-haired corryn came bounding into the kitchen. “Kithryl, where have you … Almighty Aluntas!” he exclaimed at the scene before him.
“Hi … Breslen,” Morticai said.
The man stood frozen a moment before replying, almost in a whisper, “I shall close the pub.”
Dualas continued to apply pressure to the wound, but the cloth filled with blood, almost immediately soaked. He covered it with another, and then another, but each fresh compress became soaked. When it was obvious the cloths were not slowing the flow, Dualas would toss them all aside except for the one on the bottom, then repeat the sequence.
By the time Dualas threw aside the third set of cloths, Morticai was slipping in and out of consciousness.
“Let me switch with you,” Coryden said.
“Very well,” Dualas replied, and quickly they changed places.
It was not until Dualas took Coryden’s shaking hands away from the cloths that he realized that the bleeding had stopped. Or, at least, it no longer soaked through.
“Coryden. Coryden,” Dualas was shaking him gently. “You can stop now.”
Coryden glanced sharply at Morticai. His chest still rose and fell, but slowly. Dualas left him and began wrapping yet more bandages around Morticai’s chest, not as tight as before. Dualas checked Morticai’s heartbeat.
“I am going for help, Coryden,” Dualas said. “See if you can find another blanket—I fear Morticai’s blood loss has stolen much of his body’s warmth. But, most important,” Dualas said, grabbing Coryden’s arm, “should he awaken, and he might—do not let him move! He must remain still.”
“I understand.”
“I’ll see if I can find a horse, and I shall return as quickly as possible.”
“Is Dyluth gonna die?”
Everyone in the kitchen jumped at the unexpected question. Only now did they realize that Kithryl had left the back door open. A crowd of children peered in at them.
“Shoo!” Kithryl cried, running to the back door. “You children should not be here.”
“But Kithryl—” one of them complained.
She bent down to the child and took him by the shoulders.
“No, Tagger, Dyluth isn’t going to die,” she said, wiping a tear from her face. “Not unless the Levani insist on taking him—and we all pray that they will not. Now, you and your friends go on. I’m sorry I can’t feed you tonight, but you understand.”
“Will it help Dyluth if we pray?”
Kithryl smiled. “Of course it will. Now, go on.” She herded them away from the door before returning to close it.
* * *
Coryden had retrieved Morticai’s dagger, and he inspected it while he waited. A notch as wide as his thumb was cut in the edge Morticai had used to parry the warrior’s blade. It was no wonder he’d not been able to stop it. Coryden shuddered as he thought about what would have happened if Morticai had not had the dagger to parry with. He wondered what metal the silver-haired warrior’s blade had been forged from.
Finally, he heard voices from the front. Kithryl and Dualas entered, followed by Kirwin and Ivan, the Northmarch surgeon, and Berret, Evadrel, and … Geradon Kinsey. Coryden quickly glanced at Dualas, but the knight seemed unruffled by Geradon’s presence. Ivan and Geradon moved quickly to Morticai’s side. Ivan gently shook Morticai’s shoulder. Morticai’s eyes snapped open, and he jumped—and then immediately gasped. Both Coryden and Dualas grabbed him to prevent any further movement.
“Easy, Morticai,” Ivan said.
Ivan and Geradon carefully began removing Morticai’s bandages. Coryden glanced at Kirwin, but Kirwin was apparently assessing the severity of the situation as he surveyed the kitchen.
“Describe this swordsman to me,” Geradon suddenly ordered.
“He was approximately two hands taller than I,” Dualas began.
“Blessed Levani!” Berret exclaimed.
“He was corryn, with silver hair. I do not know how long his hair was—it was braided. I could not tell his eye color in the moonlight. He … fought very well.”
“I’ve never seen anyone fight like that,” Coryden said.
Ivan managed to pull the blood-glued bandages loose now. He and Geradon both closely inspected the wound. It still oozed blood; the flow began to increase again as they watched. Ivan promptly clamped a new dressing onto the wound.
“It is as I feared,” Geradon said. He sighed. “Did you notice how smooth the edge of the cut was?”
“Yes,” Ivan replied.
Geradon slowly surveyed the room and then turned his steady gaze on Kirwin. “This wound is not deep, Commander, and should not be still bleeding. It bears the taint of sorcery.”
Morticai's Luck Page 10
