by D. M. Murray
“Where were they from?” Abbonan asked.
“We don’t know,” Kalfinar replied. “I suspect there is more to be learned from Olmat’s reports. He completed a medical assessment of the dead assassins.”
“Yes, of course.” Abbonan untied the seal and began to read the report. All eyes within the room watched as the governor’s brows met. As he read, the hum of conversation grew.
“Please,” Bergnon pleaded for quiet. “For pity’s sake, give the governor time before you start with questions.”
Abbonan finished reading the report and spoke to the gathered council, “Olmat speaks of men foreign to the countries of the Cullanain, though their exact origin he does not know.” Abbonan paused as a frown crept upon his face. “If these men are not of the Cullanain, then surely there must be something of their nature we can discern. In Dajda’s name!” Abbonan slammed his fist into the table, startling his hounds. “There must be something about them!”
Kalfinar exchanged a wary glance with Broden as Olmat’s warning to keep the nature of the assassin’s secret echoed in his mind. “Go ahead, Broden.”
Broden leaned down between his feet and retrieved the bag he had been carrying. He placed it on the table and removed the head of the assassin he killed the night before. A pair of flies buzzed off the filthy head as it was drawn from the bag. A foul smell followed soon after. Broden placed the head down on the table, the sticky gore staining the polished finish.
“Dajda!” Abbonan and the rest of the Terna High Command gasped and leaned in to get a better look. “What is it?” Abbonan asked. “Dajda, it stinks.”
“We don’t know,” Broden said.
“Whatever it is, it’s something new,” Kalfinar said.
“I think I need to pray on this a while,” Abbonan said, his eyes never leaving the head before him. “I think it is best we adjourn for the night and retire. Major Bergnon, take the names of Kalfinar’s troop. Make sure the clerk completes a posthumous commission for the two dead boys, and as for any others awaiting rank, see it done.” Abbonan inclined his head towards Kalfinar and Broden. “Find yourselves a room. There’s no shortfall.” His face was wan, and he made no effort to hide his emotion. The atmosphere hung in the room like bad light. Abbonan moved towards Kalfinar and Broden and grasped their hands. “I’m so very glad to see you both.” He looked around at his gathered council, all now having risen. Governor Abbonan nodded and grunted to himself, “Good. These are good officers.”
*
There was no trouble locating a room large enough for the three of them. Four beds filled the four corners of the room. In the middle stood a table and four chairs. Broden was busy devouring a plate of roast lamb and fresh bread.
“Kal,” Broden said while he rested his hand on his cousin’s forearm. “Have some food.”
Kalfinar shooed off Broden’s offer, his face settling into a frown as he rubbed his sweating temples. “Not tonight. I’ve no appetite.” At least, not for food. Kalfinar’s mind was in the docks of Carte, remembering the ways to the jalsinum houses, to the dens where he could fill his lungs and shed it all. Smoke and blood, whores and mud.
“Here we go!” Bergnon returned from the kitchens with some more Apulan wine. They sat as friends for the first time in four long years.
“Damn, but it’s good to see you both.” Bergnon smiled.
“Kalfinar.” Bergnon’s smile dropped off the corners of his face. “I’ve been wanting to say, I received word when I was in Solansia. I wanted to be there with you. I’m sorry I wasn’t.”
“Ach,” Kalfinar grunted. He immediately felt the flush of heat in his eyes, threatening to spill over. Holding the tears back and looking at his friend, he smiled. It was bitterly devoid of happiness. “I know.” I’m glad you couldn’t be there to see me rot into filth. Shaming her memory, shaming myself, tearing our world asunder. “What’s keeping this physician?” Kalfinar asked, changing the subject.
“Sorry, I should’ve mentioned,” Bergnon replied. “Our physician was amongst those killed. A case of wrong place at the wrong time, it seems. His apprentice is not fully equipped with the skills. Which is to say the man is more of a danger than the bloody flux. We’ve drafted in a physician from the university. His name escapes me now. Bastard of a fellow, though.”
Broden coughed and interrupted, “Who wants some more—”
Before he could finish, an old man dressed in a long black cloak came briskly into the room. Ignoring the three men who sat before him, he aggressively shook off the rain that had gathered about his thick woollen cloak and then patted down his plain black physician’s smock. Puffing and scowling, he was clearly unimpressed at being summoned at such a late hour and in such dreadful weather.
“Shitting weather,” the man grumbled to himself. He looked Broden in the eyes as a large raindrop clung to the tip of his long, hooked nose. “I’m the physician, Aslat.” His fists rested upon his hips and his foot tapped a ferocious tattoo on the floor. “Well,” the old man paused, the air between them crackling as his annoyance spewed out, “which one of you is pissing well sick then?” He looked accusingly at each of them before settling on Kalfinar. “Hmmm, you are, aren’t you? I can smell it off you. It’s like the stench off a sick cur.”
*
“Take your damn shirt off.” The old physician roughly manhandled Kalfinar’s leather jerkin and shirt off, before tossing them on the floor by Bergnon’s feet.
“Steady!” Kalfinar snapped as he felt his wound bite.
The physician glared, locking eyes. “Big warrior like you complaining about a bit of rough handling. This place really may be in the shit traps if this is what is left to fight our battles.”
Kalfinar’s eyes hardened.
“I think I’ll go and get those baths heated for you,” Bergnon said before biting his lip behind the physician’s back to stifle his laughter.
The physician, although small in stature, was proving to be somewhat a tyrant, and the atmosphere in the room lurched to the arse-pinching uncomfortable.
Broden, sensing his chance to escape, called after Bergnon, “I’ll help!”
“No. He’s capable enough without you,” Kalfinar ordered his cousin to stay. I’m not going to be the only one to suffer at the hands of this little crow.
Aslat cleaned the wound of the grit that had inevitably found its way past the burst stitches and into the flesh, provoking the occasional wince from Kalfinar. The physician’s mood appeared to lighten somewhat as he worked. Kalfinar focussed on Broden as he stood gazing out at the thin glass window overlooking the perpetually wet city of Terna.
“You’ve seen your fair share of sharp edges,” the old physician referred to the many small and not so small scars assorted over Kalfinar’s upper body. “Or blunt edges. And come to think of it, the odd edge in between as well, I’d say.”
Broden called out from his place by the window, “I can never keep him out of trouble, but that’s nothing. Take a look at these.” He unbuttoned his long jerkin and rolled up his shirt, revealing his raggedly scarred side.
“By Dajda’s grace! You’re lucky to be alive. What in the frozen hells did that to you?”
“Mountain wolf.” Broden rolled down his shirt and tucked it back into his trousers. “He’s dead now,” he added casually, his gaze again returning to the damp night scene before him.
“Must have been a close bloody call on that front,” the physician said, returning to the work at hand. “Good. Despite your best efforts, that appears to be healing well.” He applied a fresh bandage to Kalfinar’s wound and bound his shoulder once more. “I’d say you’ll be using it again, only lightly, in another week. Heed me, just light use. Don’t shitting well push it, or the next time I see you, I’ll be hacking the damn thing off.” As he packed up his supplies, he asked, “Tell me, what have you taken as a tonic?”
“Falidweed. My physician gave it to me to boil up in water. Horrible stuff, it tastes like stewed up pipe leaf.” Kalfinar
rolled his shoulder as he spoke. “Thanks, this feels better.”
“Falidweed,” the physician repeated it to himself, as though his tongue was trying on the fit of the word. “I must admit I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
Kalfinar looked across to Broden who peered out the window, though his darkened reflection of knotting brows confirmed he had heard the man speak. Kalfinar returned his attention to the physician as he slung his bag across his shoulder.
“Tell me…”
“Aslat.”
“Tell me, Aslat, you teach at the University here in Terna, don’t you?” Kalfinar asked the physician as he reached for his shirt.
“Yes. This will be my thirtieth year teaching the healing ways within those walls, mostly to gormless morons and the indolent progeny of the preening classes. But they buy my bread, and so I must educate those vacuous wretches.” He helped Kalfinar put his shirt on, somewhat more gently than when removing it.
“Truly a service of merit, Aslat.” Broden supplied the compliment from his position by the window.
“Don’t be smart with me, boy,” Aslat snapped towards Broden.
Kalfinar continued, “Tell me, do you know of a physician who goes by the name of Capriath? An old friend of ours has directed us to this man.” Kalfinar studied the face of the physician carefully as he asked his question.
Aslat muttered the name twice as his gaze shifted around the room. “No, I’m sorry, but that name is not familiar to me.” Aslat shook his head as he grasped Kalfinar’s hand. “I’m sorry I cannot help you with your search, eh…”
“It’s Captain Kalfinar, and that’s Captain Broden.”
“Captain Kalfinar, I see.” The physician was silent for a moment, before he spoke again, “Come and see me tomorrow morning, just after sunrise. I’ll be able to give you some more tonics for the pain, and perhaps something to speed up the healing. I’m sorry I have few supplies with me tonight. I’m afraid I was caught a little by surprise.”
“Certainly,” Kalfinar replied. “Where shall I find you?”
“My office is number seven as you enter the medical quadrangle. If you get lost, just ask one of the students. Preferably one who breathes through the nose. There should be plenty about. Not plenty breathing through their nose, though.” Chuckling to himself, the physician shuffled through the door and disappeared down the hallway.
Kalfinar and Broden both nodded in silent agreement. Aslat had grown nervous.
He’s lying.
CHAPTER SIX
“Kal, why didn’t we just take the horses?” Broden grumbled.
“Think about it,” Kalfinar snapped. “What would you pay more attention to, two men on foot or two men on horseback? Let’s just try to keep our heads down as much as possible.” He pulled the hood of his cloak tighter around his face and trudged on through the harbour fog that hung low and cold in the damp, salty air of morning.
The previous night had been restless for Kalfinar. Dark dreams, the symphony of drumming rain and Broden’s snoring all served to torment his rest. His limbs felt weary as he made his way through the grim morning.
The sun had been up for less than half an hour and the narrow streets remained unusually quiet. The few tradesmen who passed Kalfinar and Broden appeared too busy rubbing their bleary eyes to pay much heed to the two men. They turned down a tight alley between tall buildings as a shortcut towards the University and narrowly avoided a bucket load of freshly brewed morning filth.
“Shit!” Broden snapped as he leapt back from the splashing excrement. “Think I preferred the rain,” he said before carefully sidestepping the waste. Broden ignored the insults cascading down from the narrow window above. “Supposed to be the nice end of town.”
“Arse-end of town, more like it,” Kalfinar said, eyes scanning the buildings above for any further downpours.
As they approached the ornate University building, a young cleric with short cropped hair and a riot of spots on his face shuffled by.
“Excuse me, Brother,” Kalfinar said as he caught the attention of the young man. “Can you direct us towards the medical quadrangle?”
Politely, the cleric accompanied the two captains into the main arcade of the University and led them into the well-manicured herb gardens of the medical quadrangle before hurrying off.
“I’m sure Dajda will forgive him,” Broden mused. “At least he’s trying to make his devotions.” He smiled wistfully. “I haven’t been for a week. That’s the longest since the last skirmish season three years ago.”
Kalfinar shook his head dismissively. “Never mind that. Number seven’s over there by the log piles. Let’s see what Aslat has to say for himself.” He strode onwards, leaving Broden where he stood.
“Oh, I know you care not!” Kalfinar heard Broden call after him. “But I still have my faith.”
*
The voice bidding them to enter the room sounded different than it had the previous night. It was weary and without the same snap. As he opened the door, Kalfinar saw Aslat sitting behind a large desk, buried behind a mountain of charts, paperwork, and maps. His oil-lamp had burned down, its flame moving weakly with the dance of one near done. Aslat looked up at them from behind his desk with blood-shot eyes. The room was not large, though its walls were covered from floor to ceiling with an extensive collection of books and papers, jars, and urns.
Kalfinar scanned the room. Seems few physicians can keep their house in order. Looks just like Olmat’s chambers.
The heavy green drapes were still closed. They had done a remarkable job retaining the heat from the meagre fire that burned beside the desk, more a bed of embers than any real flame.
“Come in, come in, Kalfinar, Broden.” Aslat rose from his seat and moved around his desk. He hadn’t changed his clothes from the night before. He broke into a wide grin, one which did not look altogether natural. It hung beneath his hooked nose like a lopsided cut of meat.
“He’d better be careful. His face looks like it’s going to break,” Broden whispered, leaving Kalfinar coughing to hide his laughter.
“Everything fine?” the old physician asked.
“The damp, Aslat. It’s this damned damp city,” Kalfinar lied, his features betraying not a word.
Broden’s face, however, was not so subtle. The big man lost control and croaked out a bark of laughter. His slip served only to push Kalfinar to the limit, leaving him spluttering also.
The physician looked at the two men before shaking his head, dismissing their behaviour.
“Yes, the damp. Indeed, I almost have gills myself.” Aslat smirked at his own quip. “Come, take a seat.” He ushered the captains towards two stools by the smouldering fire. “I’ve not been entirely truthful to you.”
Kalfinar and Broden feigned shock.
“For good reason,” Aslat continued. “My real name is not as I claimed it to be. Truly, I’m called Capriath.”
“We’d guessed as much,” Kalfinar admitted.
“You mean my subterfuge failed?” Capriath frowned and took out a wrinkled handkerchief before blowing his nose. “Seems I’m getting out of practice. That will not do.” Inspecting his handkerchief, he grimaced. “Piss on it! I’m getting a cold,” he muttered to himself, shoving the handkerchief back into a pocket in his gown. “Lucky for me then you are friend and not foe, or I’d be rightly shat on, wouldn’t I?”
“You’ve nothing to fear from us,” Broden said.
“Thanks be to Dajda! Nevertheless, to you, and you alone am I known as Capriath. To anyone else, my name is Aslat. Remember that.”
“Worry not,” Kalfinar said. “We’re more attuned to detect a lie than most. Let’s call it a special sense.”
Capriath did not appear convinced, his eyes narrowing.
Changing the subject, Kalfinar continued, “Our physician, a man named Olmat, told me to seek out a physician in Terna by your name. Your real name, that is. He claimed my arm was at risk.” Kalfinar leaned forward a little on his stool. �
��But something nags at me. Call it this special sense again. There’s something more to our visit than my arm, isn’t there?”
“Well, there may be, but in time. First, let me take another look at that wound of yours. I really don’t want to have to hack the limb off.” Capriath moved around his desk, collecting a small pot containing a honey-coloured substance. “Broden, could you swing that pot of water over the fire and boil up some tea?”
Broden obliged, placing some kindling and a pair of logs onto the embers before hanging the pot on the iron arm and swinging it above the rekindled fire. Capriath removed the dressing before inspecting Kalfinar’s wound. Applying gentle pressure, he rubbed some of the honey-coloured substance over and around the stitches. “Olmat was right. You do heal quickly.”
Kalfinar looked up at the physician. “You know Olmat?”
“I’ve known him a long time.” Capriath’s wrinkled face opened up in a wide grin. It sat kinder on his face this time. “I’m just going to apply something to speed the healing further. It’s a moss that I’ve crossbred. Frightfully useful stuff, if I do say so myself.” He turned towards his window and pulled back the drapes revealing an array of plants and pots gathering what meagre sunlight they could from the miserable morning.
“If you don’t mind my asking, what’s the connection between you?” Kalfinar probed further as Capriath returned and applied a green, web-like material over the wound.
“My connection with Olmat? It’s fairly mundane. We first met at a young age through some mutual friends, and since then we’ve kept in touch as and when we could. We’re both involved in the same line of work, and have a mutual love of botany, so there are common interests. There! That’s looking better.” Capriath nodded in approval of his own handiwork. “I’ll bind you up again.”
Broden sat by the fire, inspecting the water as it heated. He spoke, still gazing at the pot, “You say you’ve an interest in botany, and indeed that you’ve dabbled in the breeding of such things.” He acknowledged the dressing on Kalfinar’s shoulder, “That would require a deep knowledge of the science, would it not?”
