“Mornin’,” the Northmarcher said when he saw that Morticai was awake.
“Hi, Udall. Don’t tell me, you’ve brought me this wonderful stuff that I’m just gonna’ love—right?”
Laughing, Udall set the broth down on the table beside the bed.
“You’re not tired of this, are you?”
“Well, it tasted pretty good the first few times. But six bowls a day has seemed to do something to the flavor.”
“Well, drink up. I don’t think you’ll find any of us willing to drink it for you!”
“Yeah, I’ll wager you’re right. Thanks.”
After Udall left, Morticai carefully maneuvered himself into a sitting position. He picked up the broth, stared at it a moment, and set it back down.
Yuuch, he thought. Not this morning—lunch will be here soon enough!
Taking a deep breath, he slowly pulled himself up beside the bed. Picking up the broth, Morticai worked his way to the window using the furniture and the walls for extra support. The small window looked out onto the northern roof of Northgate’s eastern wing. He opened the window and nonchalantly poured the broth onto the roof. A dingy grey cat quickly ran across the roof toward the puddle.
“Enjoy it while it lasts,” Morticai told the alley cat. “It’s not gonna’ last forever—I hope!”
He had made it back to the bed when the door latch began to turn again. Must be Geradon, he thought, closing his eyes. Silence. He lifted an eyelid enough to see Udall closing the door. What the Levani is he doing back so soon? Udall picked up the wooden bar and placed it across the door.
Morticai quickly moved his arm off the far edge of the bed, feeling for his dagger, but it wasn’t where he’d left it. He cursed silently, but then his fingertips brushed against a rounded shape.
Udall turned around and drew his sword. Morticai feigned sleep as Udall advanced. He was almost within sword reach when, with a yell, Morticai flung his chamber pot into Udall’s face and rolled off the opposite side of the bed. Udall howled in rage as the pot shattered against his forehead. Morticai gained his feet, but feared he’d be unable to keep standing—the room spun around him as searing pain shot up his side.
Clearing the bed, Udall rushed toward him. Morticai staggered back, colliding with a stack of chairs. He grabbed at them for support, and the unsteady stack toppled into Udall’s advancing sword strokes. The spinning room became a blur as he fought back the panic rising within him.
Morticai could hear Udall advancing. He careened into an empty wardrobe and tried to pull it over. He succeeded, but he crashed to the floor with it—and then heard Udall’s cry of anger from underneath the destroyed furniture.
For a moment, he lay frozen, listening for Udall’s movements. His vision cleared and he saw the human, who was pulling himself from the debris only a few feet away. He also saw his pile of practice knives, which lay only a few feet away. He scrambled toward them on his hands and knees as, again, the room began to spin.
Reaching the knives, he rolled into a sitting position. The spinning of the room reached full speed. Panting, he tried to focus, but he was unsuccessful. He closed his eyes against the spinning and threw two knives. He heard them as they struck … furniture.
Morticai regained his feet and reeled up against the room’s northern wall. Someone pounded on the door. Leaning against the wall, Morticai tried again to focus; he could see a vague blob moving toward him. The pounding on the door got louder. Udall let out a cry and charged. Morticai could no longer wait for his vision to clear, so he threw his last knife and prayed that his aim was true.
The blob coughed, gurgled, fell, and lay still. Gasping, Morticai closed his eyes and held his head. The dizziness subsided. Remaining in place, he opened his eyes. Udall lay kicking in a growing pool of blood about five feet away. Morticai’s knife sprouted from his throat.
He heard the door burst open and looked up, but that made his head spin again. He slid down the wall, bowed his head, and closed his eyes.
* * *
The door gave with a loud crack as Richard threw his big body against it for the third time. Coryden charged past as Richard cleared the doorway. It took the captain a moment to spot Morticai, who sat slumped, head down, against the opposite wall of the large room. Broken furniture lay everywhere. It wasn’t until he was halfway to Morticai that he saw Udall’s body.
“Morticai! Are you all right?”
Morticai didn’t open his eyes “Coryden? Uh, yeah. I think so.”
A crowd of stunned Northmarchers filled the room. Everyone in the barracks beneath Morticai’s room had heard the noise.
“Udall!” someone cried.
Coryden reached Morticai first, but he decided against moving him back to the bed. Dualas appeared, and then Berret, and, as Coryden watched, his entire patrol quietly maneuvered themselves between Morticai and Udall’s angry patrol mates. Coryden noted that Richard had moved over to stand with his men. The crowd began yelling questions.
“Udall’s dead!”
“How?”
“Who? Morticai?”
“Udall!”
“What happened?” Udall’s captain demanded.
“He, uh … he attacked me,” Morticai said.
The noise level increased as more questions were shouted. Morticai didn’t respond.
“Bastard corryn!” someone shouted.
“This is crazy,” one of the humans responded to the insult. “What’re we talkin’ about here anyway? We’re all Northmarchers—this has nothin’ to do with Morticai bein’ corryn.”
The room itself seemed to growl as the patrollers argued amongst themselves.
“Why would he attack you?” Udall’s captain demanded, but before Morticai could answer, another voice commanded everyone’s immediate attention.
“Silence in the ranks!” Kirwin shouted. “What’s all this noise, Northmarchers? What’s going on here?”
The men fell silent. The crowd parted as Kirwin walked through. He paused when he saw Udall.
“Morticai murdered Udall,” someone said.
As if it were one entity, Coryden’s men tensed and moved a step closer to Morticai and their captain.
“It was self-defense,” Evadrel said.
Most of Coryden’s patrol stared at Evadrel—their scout rarely spoke if more than two or three people were present.
“Udall had no reason to attack him,” someone else yelled back. “He didn’t hate corryn. Morticai must’ve provoked it.”
Kirwin spun toward the speaker, his face set in stone. Coryden expected him to order the room cleared, but before he could give that order, Geradon’s voice rose above the murmuring crowd.
“The Droken have eyes and ears everywhere. And more than a few reasons to send an assassin against Morticai.”
“Droken …” the dread name whispered through the crowd as Geradon came forward.
Kirwin raised his voice again. “Right—I want everyone out of this room except Captain Coryden, Captain Williams, Sergeant Heimrik, and … Brother Geradon.”
Reluctantly, the crowd dispersed. The last to leave the room, Richard extracted the wooden bar from the iron lantern bracket he’d ripped from the wall and pulled the half-broken door closed after him.
“All right, Morticai,” Kirwin demanded, “what happened?”
“Udall brought me my broth and —“
“Where is it?” Geradon interrupted. “Did you drink any of it?” he demanded.
Kirwin glared at Geradon, who ignored him.
“I, uh, I poured it outside the window,” Morticai admitted.
“What?” Geradon asked.
Coryden went to the window, opened it, and then paused before looking back at Morticai. “Did you drink any of that broth, Morticai?”
“No, why?”
Coryden reached out
the window, then turned around with the lifeless alley cat in his hands. Kirwin’s jaw dropped.
Captain Williams made a gesture against evil. “Blessed Levani!”
Geradon nodded. “As I said, the Droken have eyes and ears everywhere. I suggest we check this man’s belongings carefully and quickly.”
“Captain Williams,” Kirwin ordered, “secure Udall’s belongings before anyone tampers with them.”
“Y-yes, sir,” Williams replied.
“You expected this?” Kirwin demanded of Geradon when Williams had left.
“I expected some sort of an attempt, though I had not considered poison since I have been preparing the broth myself. It was foolish of me to allow anyone else to bring it to him. I am sorry, Morticai. This was a grave error on my part. Thank the Levani, your patron Glawres watches over you.”
“Are you all right, Morticai?” Kirwin asked.
“I, uh, think so, sir.”
“I had better check his wound,” Geradon told Kirwin.
Kirwin nodded. “Captain Coryden,” he instructed, “remove Udall’s body to the sanctum and get this room cleaned up.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Carry on,” Kirwin said with a sigh.
As Kirwin exited, Morticai slumped against Berret.
“Glawres,” he mumbled, “my side hurts.”
“Well,” Geradon said, “let’s take a look at it.”
* * *
Morticai awoke the next morning to find Sir Dualas sitting beside the bed.
“Good morrow!” Dualas greeted him cheerfully.
“Ugh … if you say so,” Morticai replied. “Gods, I’m stiff. How long before I can move like a real person again, Dualas?”
“Brother Geradon has said that a few more weeks should have you feeling normal again.”
“A few more weeks!” Morticai sighed, “I’ve never had a wound like this.”
“This was a sorcerous wound.”
“Yeah, I know. That’s what Geradon said. So, what happened with Udall? The last thing I heard was Kirwin telling someone to check his gear.”
“Indeed. They found nothing in his trunk, but when they searched his body they discovered a vial of powder which Brother Kinsey says is the poison that was used in your broth.”
“I never thought I’d have to kill a Northmarcher,” Morticai said solemnly. “What’s happening in the city?”
“There is an ill wind that smells of war, I am afraid. I understand you were told about Sir Aldwin’s assassination and the rioting.”
“Has there been more?”
“No, but then, not many corryn are braving our streets, either.”
Morticai shook his head. “And no one is trying to find out who we fought or where he is, are they?”
“I believe the Inquisition is looking into it.”
“Yeah, I’ll wager!”
A soft knock sounded at the door, which had been repaired. Dualas opened it to find Brother Geradon Kinsey standing there. A shorter human who wore the robes of a priest of the Faith stood beside him.
“Good morrow, Sir Dualas,” Geradon greeted.
“Good morrow, Brother.”
“Sir Dualas, if you could come with me, I have something to discuss with you,” Geradon said. “My associate here shall tend Morticai’s wound this morning.”
Morticai sighed, and the sigh turned into a wince. So much for practicing with his knives—they weren’t going to give him any privacy.
“Good day,” the priest said as he began unpacking bandages.
“Yeah, that’s what they’re sayin’,” Morticai replied.
The human stopped and looked at him thoughtfully.
“I am sorry. I suppose you do not see it as a ‘good day’ at the moment.” He finished unpacking and began carefully unwinding Morticai’s bandages.
“Well, let’s just say I’m gettin’ awful tired of lookin’ at the ceiling.”
“I understand you actually had a rather busy day, yesterday.”
“Yeah, you could say that—and worse.”
Morticai automatically held his breath as the last of the bandage was removed. Yesterday’s activities had reawakened the injured nerves near the wound.
“Do you hunt Droken officially for the Northmarch?” the human asked.
“No. In fact Kirwin isn’t too fond of it. I’m afraid that when this is all over, he’s going to ship me to Mid-Keep.”
“Kirwin, that’s your commander?”
“Yeah.”
“So,” the human said as he inspected the wound, “because you have been hunting Droken, you think Kirwin will send you to Mid-Keep?”
“Well, actually because I keep disobeying orders. Not that I mean to. But this is important, y’know, and he just doesn’t understand that.”
“What about the Faith? Shouldn’t the Faith be able to handle this?”
“Well, they’re supposed to. No offense, but the Faith just doesn’t use the right tactics. If I hadn’t gone to the Pit, I wouldn’t have found out that the Droken were using that abandoned manor house. I just can’t see ‘the Faith’ going into the Pit.”
“Hm. It’s time to get these stitches out.”
Morticai inhaled sharply. “It is?”
“I promise you, it will not hurt as much as when they were put in. I understand this was lanced a few days ago?”
“Yeah. That certainly hurt!”
“Well, let us see what we can do here. I believe you will find that the wound will feel better once the thread is removed. Roll over a bit more. That’s good. Now, hold steady. I shall do this a small piece at a time. There.”
Morticai winced.
“That was the first piece of thread. That wasn’t too bad, was it?”
“No. Just get it over with, will ya?”
“If you are ready.” The priest carefully removed the remaining stitches.
Geradon Kinsey entered the room. Without looking up, the human addressed him.
“Yes?”
“The knights from the Sanctorium have arrived, Inquisitor.”
“Thank you, Geradon.”
Morticai jumped. Geradon exited the room again.
“I’m sorry, Morticai. Did I hurt you?” the Inquisitor asked.
“Uh … ah, no. S-so you’re Inquisitor Glaedwin?”
“Yes. You can call me Rylan, if you wish. I am sorry I was unable to visit with you earlier, but I had a lot of work to do. All things considered, it looks as though your wound is healing very well.” Rylan began to redress the wound. “I must tell you something about this wound that you do not know. You were told that the wound was sorcerous?”
“Yes.”
“Well, the sword that wounded you has quite a reputation. In fact, the sword even has a name—Ducledha. Because of the way the wound bled without closing or clotting, and based on the physical description you gave us, we are fairly certain we know who it was that you fought in that alley in the Snake Pit.”
“You do?”
“Yes. Have you ever heard of Prince Luthekar?”
“No. What’s he prince of?”
“The Droken.”
“W-what?”
“That’s right. The Droken. And I am very pleased to say that you will survive this wound from his sword, Ducledha, despite the fact that no one before you has ever survived such a wound. All those before you have bled to death.”
Morticai stared at this strange man who sat beside him and talked so calmly about such things.
“I fought the prince of the Droken?”
“One of them, yes. There are actually two princes, Luthekar and Mortern. They have only been sighted a few times in the thousand years that the Faith has attempted to keep record of them.”
“A thousand years?” Morticai asked i
ncredulously.
“Yes. Of course, they are not mortal in the normal sense. As you saw, Luthekar is corryn. And as you know, a corryn is at the end of his days at five hundred years at the most. And yet Luthekar seems to be in his prime. Mortern is human. It is a dread price indeed that they must have paid to win such favors from foul Droka!”
Morticai stared at Rylan as his words sank in. Before he could respond, however, the door opened again and Geradon reappeared, this time with Kirwin, Phillip, Coryden, and Dualas in tow.
“Inquisitor Glaedwin,” Kirwin said tersely, “I have been told by Brother Kinsey that you intend to move Morticai from Northgate. For two weeks now, I have allowed Brother Kinsey as much freedom within my stronghold as possible.”
Morticai paled. Move me? he thought. To where? Morticai fought back the urge to run, even though the thought of running was ludicrous.
Kirwin stalked over to the large table and pounded his fist down onto it. “I have even suspended my normal reprimand procedures. But no one, understand me, no one takes one of my men without my permission. So why don’t you tell me just exactly what this is all about? Move him where, and why?”
Inquisitor Glaedwin finished cleaning his hands on a dry cloth and turned to face Kirwin. “Indeed, Commander,” he said,” I find it commendable that you feel so strongly responsible for your men. You have every right to be informed of our wishes and to approve them. There are several reasons we believe it would be in Morticai’s best interest, and in yours I might add, for him to be moved.”
“First,” he continued, “there is the consideration of security. With the strained relations between Dynolva and Watchaven, and the burden this has placed on you, it is unfair for you to have to deal with the additional threat of Droken assassins attempting to reach Morticai. I am quite certain that if he remained here, more attempts would be made—this, unfortunately, is the Droken way.”
“Second, moving Morticai to Grandhaven Sanctorium would give him the added benefit of expert caregivers to aid his recovery. Mother Edana is quite famous for her skills in healing.”
“And finally, at the Sanctorium, we could continue our investigation without being a further nuisance to you. Your duties here, the smooth functioning of the Northmarch, is paramount, especially in such troubled times. I am certain that it would ease things for you if we were not in the way.”
Morticai's Luck Page 13
