Morticai's Luck

by Darlene Bolesny

  He tried twisting again, more gently, but again, pain traveled down his arm, though not as severely as before. Blood flowed more freely now down his arm and he began to fear he might, after all, be able to bleed to death from the small punctures. His arm trembled and, in apparent sympathy, his shoulders spasmed. This time he was able to stay quiet, though the effort sent tears running down his face. He had squeezed his eyes shut so tightly that the headache had returned. For a long time, he just hung onto the chains and tried to relax and reclaim some strength. Finally, he was able to again twist the chains.

  He twisted until he was once more claimed by despair. Only a pitifully small amount of mortar had fallen as a reward for his efforts. Exhausted, he eventually fell into a fitful sleep, only to be awakened almost immediately by the agony that claimed his wrists as his weight settled fully within the manacles. He thought about trying to wake-rest, but quickly threw the thought away. Even under perfect conditions, he’d been unable to master the skill. It would be futile to try and use it now.

  And so the pattern continued, and as the candles burned ever lower, he lapsed in and out of sleep in sporadic fits.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Rylan paced the makeshift study while a maid cleared the remains of breakfast from their table. Geradon impatiently thumped his quill against the edge of the inkpot as he waited for the maid to leave so Rylan could continue his dictation. At last, the maid closed the door and Rylan continued.

  “ … if he is not at Northgate,” Rylan said, “then come here immediately. Underline ‘immediately,’ Geradon. Sign it and have that sent now. No, better still, I want you to hop a coach to Northgate. I want to make certain this gets to Richard now, and not six hours from now, if he is on duty.”

  * * *

  Nelerek had just finished his morning chores when the pounding began. He stepped out of his just-cleaned mews and onto the expanse of flat roof he used to weather his hunting birds. Looking over the edge of the roof he could see a coach parked below, but could not see the insistent knocker.

  “I shall come down,” he yelled over the edge of the roof. The pounding ceased. He traveled back through the mews, into his upper loft and downstairs. Opening the front door’s spy shutter, he peered outside.

  “Heather?” he asked, surprised, and promptly opened the door.

  “We have trouble, Nelerek,” she immediately began. “Dyluth was to meet me at dawn this morning—he never arrived.”

  * * *

  Rylan had just started a list of places to search when he heard a key in the door lock. As the door opened, he realized that he had been holding his breath in expectation. He released it as Geradon entered the room.

  “I suppose it was too much to hope that you were Morticai,” Rylan said, “and your expression tells me that he was not at Northgate.”

  “You are correct, I am afraid, on both points,” Geradon replied. “I came ahead of the others so I could have a few moments with you alone.”

  “The others? Captain Coryden?” Rylan guessed.

  “Coryden, Dualas, Berret,” Geradon listed. “We shall be lucky if the whole patrol does not come,” he said cynically.

  “Now, Geradon,” Rylan chided, smiling, “you must admit, their camaraderie is commendable.”

  “It will at least give us a goodly number for searching—though I fear the worst.”

  “I hate to hear you speak so, friend,” Rylan replied.

  “I hope to be proved wrong. If you will permit, I shall sequester away in our room for a short while.”

  “By all means,” Rylan said.

  Geradon was still absent when Richard’s strong knock echoed from the door.

  “Come,” bid Rylan.

  Richard entered, followed by Captain Coryden, Sergeant Heimrik, Sir Dualas, and someone Rylan did not know.

  “Inquisitor,” Richard began, bowing his head in respect, “I believe you know everyone who has come with me except Evadrel.” He gestured to the stranger. “Evadrel is the scout for Morticai’s patrol.”

  Rylan nodded politely. Evadrel smiled, and returned the nod.

  “Brother Geradon?” Richard asked.

  “Is sequestered at the moment, seeking insight. He shall join us shortly,” Rylan explained.

  “I have told them about my allegiance,” Richard said by way of apology.

  “That is all right, Richard,” Rylan assured him. “I hope you will forgive our small deception,” Rylan said, addressing the unusually silent Coryden. “It was the only protection I could give Morticai while he was at Northgate. Richard is my personal guard.”

  Coryden smiled ruefully. “I’m not offended.” He looked up at Richard. “I just wish we could keep him.”

  Rylan gestured for them to sit down. “I fear that I became so caught up in our research that I allowed Morticai too much reign. He had been keeping me informed in advance of his activities, but his note caught me entirely off guard.” Rylan handed the sparse note to Coryden. “He was my responsibility and I have failed him, and you.”

  Coryden shook his head. “If there’s anything I have learned from my years with Morticai, it is that you cannot tether him in one spot. It just doesn’t work.” He passed the note to Berret.

  “Yep,” Berret agreed, looking at the note. “That’s Morticai, all right. Gave you plenty of information.”

  “Morticai has always had this habit of coming and going as he pleases,” Coryden explained. “If you thought he was conforming to your wishes, I’m afraid that probably meant your wishes didn’t conflict with what he wanted at the time.”

  “To my knowledge, however,” Dualas noted, “I do not believe he has ever missed a patrol.”

  “No,” Coryden agreed, “but then, that has always been important to him. No, Inquisitor, you have no reason to feel guilty.”

  Rylan smiled. “You are very forgiving. Have you any idea where we should begin searching?”

  Berret laughed. “Do you know how many taverns and how many lovely ladies there are in this town?”

  Coryden scowled. “I don’t agree, Berret,” he said. “Not this time. If things were different I’d wager you’d be right, but too much is at stake. I’m thinking something may have happened to drive him into hiding—I’ve seen him do it before, y’know, especially if he’s been hurt.”

  “As long as the hurt wasn’t given by that damned sword again,” Berret replied softly.

  Coryden sighed and nodded his head. An awkward moment of silence ensued. It ended abruptly when the door to the bedroom opened and Geradon emerged. Rylan scrutinized his associate closely.

  “He is still alive,” Geradon announced.

  Rylan and Richard both sighed with relief. The Northmarchers exchanged confused glances among themselves.

  “Geradon has a special gift for divination,” Rylan explained. “Could you discern which direction we should search?” the priest asked his associate.

  Geradon’s bright blue eyes clouded. “I could not get a direction.”

  Rylan straightened and winced. Richard’s mouth opened as if to say something, but then he shut it again without speaking.

  “There’s a significance?” Coryden asked.

  “Geradon,” Rylan said, “Captain Coryden has suggested that Morticai might be hiding somewhere, perhaps for his own safety, possibly wounded. Could that be the case?”

  Geradon shook his head and sat down with them. “Only if he has found an ensorcelled place to hide.” He searched the eyes of the others in the room. “I am usually either entirely successful, or not at all, when I do this,” he explained. “And in most instances I am able to discern which direction the person is from me—not distance, perhaps, but at least a general direction.”

  “And in the other instances?” Coryden asked suspiciously.

  Geradon sighed. “Although he is still alive, it must be so
mewhere that is ensorcelled against divination. In the past, this has usually meant the temple of Droka.”

  Silence claimed the room. Finally, Geradon broke the mood.

  “Sorcery would have the same effect,” he said, “whether or not a temple of Droka were involved, of course. I know that is not much of a comfort, for in either case, it supports the thought that Morticai is being held somewhere against his will. But he is still alive. I would stake my life on that. We may have time to find him.”

  “Geradon,” Rylan said softly, “what of Morticai’s friend, or friends, the ones who sent the bird? Could they have convinced him to go into hiding?”

  Geradon shrugged. “Who knows? Only if his friend is a sorcerer—or has enough money to purchase such services.”

  “What of the sorcery used to tell the bird where to fly?”

  Geradon shook his head. “You are correct that sorcery was used to train the bird. But that was very modest sorcery. Whoever it was —”

  “What the Levani …” Coryden paused a moment, embarrassed by his exclamation, “uh, what are you talking about? What ‘bird’?”

  Rylan smiled. “Someone sent a bird to Morticai while he was healing at the Sanctorium. I never did find out who it was, but from the one message I intercepted it appeared simply to be a concerned friend. Whomever it was, Morticai was apparently cooperating in the communication.”

  “Hmmph!” Berret muttered. “Probably one of his ladies.”

  “Well,” Coryden said, “if Morticai was hiding with a friend, he would have found some way to let us know he was safe.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right there,” Berret agreed. “Otherwise, he’d know you’d tear the city apart looking for him.”

  “So, gentlemen,” Rylan said, “I am afraid this unfortunately brings us back to the supposition that he has been captured. I believe it is time that the temple of Droka in Watchaven should be exposed. Tell me everything you can about this city.”

  * * *

  It was dusk by the time Coryden returned to Northgate. Berret had set up their ‘command post’ in Morticai’s room; the entire patrol had been searching since noon.

  “Anything?” Coryden asked as he entered the old attic.

  “Nothing yet,” Berret replied.

  Coryden sank wearily into Morticai’s favorite chair. Without asking, Berret poured him a drink.

  “There’s still hope, Coryden,” Berret said. “The Inquisitor came by less than an hour ago and said that Brother Kinsey had repeated his divination—Morticai is still alive, wherever he is.”

  Coryden leaned back against the chair and slowly shook his head.

  “I’m getting too old for this, Berret,” he said.

  “We’ll find him, Coryden—we’ll keep looking until we do.”

  “Yeah, I know, one way or another,” Coryden sighed. “Y’know, this happened a few times when Morticai was young. Not with Droken chasing him, of course; but there were times he simply disappeared. That’s when I discovered just how big this city really is. It hasn’t gotten any smaller.”

  “But you apparently found him then.”

  “Yeah. All of this was, I guess, before you were born. Once he was hurt pretty bad.” Coryden sat up and rubbed his neck. “Well, I can see what I’d be like if I stayed here,” he said.

  “You’re not going out again so soon, are you?” Berret asked. “You should at least go downstairs and have something to eat with your team.”

  Coryden smiled. “Thanks, Berret. I’ll be all right. And I will eat, whether or not I’m hungry—but it’ll wait ’til later. Let me look at that list.”

  Berret handed him their “master list” of areas to search.

  “Hmm …” Coryden scrutinized it. “When did you hear from Dualas last?”

  “His team checked in a little over an hour ago,” Berret said, picking up another list.

  “So, you’re keeping track of check-ins?”

  “Yep. And where everyone is searching, too. If a team comes up missing, by Aluntas, I plan to know which area of town they were in!”

  “Good idea, Berret—very good.”

  A knock sounded on the door.

  “Come,” Coryden said.

  The door opened, and a Northmarcher, wearing his guard duty insignia, stood in the doorway. “Captain Coryden,” he said, “there is someone downstairs to see you.”

  Coryden and Berret exchanged glances.

  “I’ll be right down,” Coryden said.

  * * *

  The corryn waiting at the postern gate of Northgate’s eastern wing studied Coryden as he approached. Likewise, Coryden took in as many details as he could about the stranger who stood beside the guard.

  The stranger appeared to be about two hundred and fifty years old, which was early middle age for a corryn. His hair was coal black, the most common corryn hair color, and his eyes were a light, dusty blue—not as common. His clothing was expensive, but conservative. He could have been a minor Dynolvan noble, or a merchant, neither of which were particularly popular in Watchaven at the moment. His serious eyes followed Coryden carefully.

  “I am Captain Coryden. You wished to speak with me?”

  “Ah, yes,” the corryn said, glancing at the guard.

  Coryden inclined his head, and they moved a few steps away from the human guard. The corryn stranger dropped his voice to a whisper before continuing.

  “I know that you do not know me,” he said, “but there is much I would discuss with you. You and your patrol are searching the city for your friend, Morticai. I am also a friend of Morticai’s, though to me he is known as Dyluth—which tells you how long I have known him. I have a coach waiting outside, if you would speak with me.”

  “I would—were you not so hasty,” Coryden said suspiciously. “You have not even told me your name.”

  “I am sorry,” the corryn said, shaking his head. “My name is Perlagus.”

  “And why should I believe you are a friend of Morticai’s?”

  Perlagus threw his hands up in exasperation. “What can I do to prove such a thing? Ask me anything you wish, but please, let us not tarry.”

  Coryden thought about it and realized that he had a point—what could he ask that only a friend of Morticai’s would know? Finally, a question came to mind, but Coryden knew it would be an unfair one; few of Morticai’s closest friends knew the answer. Finally, unable to think of anything else, Coryden demanded, “Tell me Morticai’s name at birth.”

  “Moranekor of Lorredre,” Perlagus replied.

  Coryden blinked, and after a moment of stunned silence, he replied, “I’ll be right back.”

  He returned shortly wearing his sword and cloak.

  “Let’s go.”

  Nodding, Perlagus led him out to the waiting coach. They climbed inside and, much to Coryden’s surprise, the coach proceeded toward the north gate itself.

  Noting his reaction, Perlagus explained, “I felt that I might as well combine our discussion with some useful travel. There is a beach that is special to Dyluth just north of town. I have not had time to search there. I do not expect to find him at that place, but I would like to see if there are any signs of him having been there recently.”

  “You are, indeed, a close friend,” Coryden said, nodding, “if you not only know Morticai’s true name, but his connection to Glawres’ beach. I had not thought of the beach, myself. Why have I never met you before?”

  Perlagus shrugged, “I stay very busy. It has been many years since Dyluth and I have been able to spend much time together. You may know me by another name, however—Dyluth usually calls me Nelerek.”

  Coryden shook his head. “It sounds vaguely familiar, but I do not recall it directly.”

  “It does not matter now. Please, let us get to business.”

  * * *

 
It was much later when Coryden stepped down from the coach at Northgate’s postern gate.

  “Coryden!” Berret called, rushing up to him.

  Hope suddenly welled up inside of him. “News?” he asked anxiously as Berret grabbed his arm.

  “No, Coryden,” Berret shook his head, “no word of Morticai.”

  Coryden sighed as his weariness reclaimed him.

  “I was worried sick about you,” Berret said. “You’ve been gone hours.”

  “I’m sorry, Berret. As it turned out, there was a lot to talk about.” Like Morticai belonging to the Arluthians, Coryden thought. Nelerek had made him swear on his life that Morticai’s membership in the Brotherhood would remain secret. Of course, Nelerek had also informed him that because he’d become privy to that very knowledge, Coryden, too, was now an Arluthian, and would eventually be brought fully into the secret society.

  “And … ?” Berret prodded.

  “Nothing—yet,” Coryden confessed. “But Morticai apparently has a lot of other old friends who are also looking for him.”

  Berret’s expression sank, and then he shrugged. “Well, it can’t hurt to have some help. I am afraid we have other problems, though.”

  “What’s happened?” Coryden asked anxiously.

  Berret sighed. “Kirwin called an assembly while you were out—”

  “Damn!”

  “Nothing to worry about there, Captain. Kirwin never even missed you. The problem is that we’re supposed to move out in twelve hours.”

  “Twelve hours! Are we at war?”

  “No, not yet. But the whole bloody Northmarch is supposed to meet at Mid-Keep. Dynolva is moving out too. Come on, the rest of the patrol is waiting for us up in Morticai’s room. I knew you’d want to hold a meeting.”