by D. M. Murray
“Different? In what manner?” Harruld started to break the seal on Olmat’s report as he spoke.
“They have skin of grey-blue, and eyes of red and yellow.”
“Hair of white and teeth in points,” Harruld added as he rolled up Olmat’s report.
“Yes,” Kalfinar said. “There’s more. We were attacked a second time by a party as we travelled to Terna. One of those we killed was Solansian. He told us that the true God had risen.”
“No more on this here,” the governor spoke with unfaltering confidence.
“No more on this?” Kalfinar said, his voice taking on urgency. “We must act! Something, someone has already struck first. This is the first wave. This attack has taken away our control, our nerve. I’ve stared into the eyes of these things. There’s a madness there!” Kalfinar rubbed his head as he spoke.
“We will react, fear not.” Harruld responded calmly. “But we must first regroup and then respond in a measured and comprehensive manner.” He had finished reading Olmat’s report and absently set flame to it with a nearby candle.
Kalfinar noticed the report was consumed in the conflagration, leaving behind a small pile of grey ash.
“What troubles your head, son?” Harruld asked.
“Headaches. Dull, throbbing. Worsening by the day it seems.”
“I assume Olmat recommended a physician?” the governor asked.
“Not Olmat, another. A man of Terna, named Aslat.”
“I know him.” Kalfinar looked up at his father from his hands. “He’ll have recommended a good man. Take some rest tonight and visit him in the morning. Once you’ve returned, we’ll hold council and discuss our position.” He looked to the two weary young soldiers standing alongside the wall. “I‘m sure you feel the need for some good food and a soft bed. I remember you three being as raw as these lads at one point.” Harruld looked at the three experienced soldiers before him. “Go on, the lot of you, and get some rest now. I think you’ll need it.”
They wearily got up, bid their farewells for the night and made for the door.
“Kalfinar,” the governor spoke softly, “would you stay with me a while?”
“Gladly.” Kalfinar wished his companions good night and closed the door to the governor’s study as his father swung the kettle to boil over the fire.
CHAPTER NINE
Kalfinar walked towards Broden’s quarters. He rubbed at his temples as his pounding headache returned. Should’ve got some bloody rest.
In truth, he had enjoyed the time spent speaking with his father, and was even happier still for the distraction from sleep. He strode into Broden’s room and shook his cousin awake. It was still an hour before sunrise.
“Get off me!” Broden huffed and grunted.
“Come on. It’s time to get up.”
“Really? And there’s me thinking you were trying to squeeze in beside me to cuddle.”
“Not likely. I’ve seen what you call cuddling.”
Broden rose with a grumble and emitted a prolonged series of squeaks and cracks as he stretched his massive frame. “You know, I do love our little morning sorties.”
“Shut up and get dressed.”
“You shut up.”
The dawn was damp and grey. Despite being early winter, there was unseasonal warmth, which brought an oppressive muggy feel to the air. This only served to aggravate Kalfinar’s headache further. They set off on a pair of unspectacular stable horses, in light of the considerable distance. Although Kalfinar was uncomfortable travelling through the city so conspicuously, he conceded the necessity, and, in any case, the directions kept them far from the main thoroughfares. To aid their passage through the tense streets of Carte, Governor Harruld had provided them with an order of passage.
They were stopped twice by parties of city guards, and asked to present their papers. The sight of armed men provoked interest, regardless of the recognisable dark green uniform of the pathfinders.
“The guards look like they’ve seen a few rough days of it,” Broden said as he watched a troop of haggard guardsmen exiting a tavern they had just searched.
Kalfinar said nothing, and kept his eye on the street and buildings ahead. The wide streets and open spaces surrounding the High Command had given way to more cramped neighbourhoods. The buildings off the main thoroughfares were of a more similar nature to those of the dockland section of town. Walls covered in plaster comprised less than half of the buildings. The first stories were largely made of stone block work, with any further stories built from wood. Most of the buildings reached three or four stories tall, with fresh paintwork of varying muted colours making for a grim scene in keeping with the quiet and overcast morning. Even though the normal time to commence trading had passed, the shop fronts stood bare and empty with no goods presented outside. The mood of unease in the city had clearly damaged the appetite of many to trade. Aside from their own steady progress, the only movement on the streets was that of the scurrying of slick haired rats as they travelled along the street drains and behind sporadic refuse heaps.
Kalfinar scanned the windows ahead. Occasionally, a resident peered out furtively before stepping away. Just keep your window’s closed, neighbour, and we’ll have no problems.
“How much further?” Broden asked.
“We have another couple of turns to make.”
They turned into a tight and tall close that reeked of damp and death. The scant morning light barely penetrated to the puddle-strewn cobbled street.
“Nice place he’s got,” Broden said as he lifted his cloak edge to cover his nose. “Smells like a dead cat.”
“Come on.” Kalfinar dismounted and led his horse to a tying pole.
Broden did the same and followed on as Kalfinar approached a small, black-stained door. He knocked twice and stepped backwards, onto Broden’s foot.
“Watch it!” Broden joked, shoving Kalfinar in the back.
Kalfinar turned around and glowered at his cousin.
The door opened. An old woman dressed in black stood before them. “What’d you want?” she asked, lifting a pair of optics to her rheumy eyes.
“Ahm,” Kalfinar mumbled, “we’re looking for a physician called Biscon.”
The old woman looked them up and down. Her gaze settled on the pommel of Kalfinar’s sword, and she made to shut the door.
“Whoa!” Kalfinar shoved his boot into the gap, stopping her shutting the door. “We were sent by a physician in Terna.”
The old woman opened the door. “Why should I care?”
“He gave us this.” Kalfinar handed the directions to her.
“What was the physician’s name?” she asked.
“Aslat.”
The old woman made to shut the door again.
“Wait!” Kalfinar shoved his foot in the gap again, and leaned in. He whispered. “He had another name. Capriath.”
The door swung open. The old woman handed Kalfinar a small folded square of parchment, nodded, and then shut the door.
“I’m guessing we’re back in the saddle,” Broden grumbled. “My arse is starting to hurt.”
*
With some significant backtracking, mixed in with several turns, they made their way to the endpoint of the new set of directions. It led them to the north side of the city, an opulent quarter, and home to some of the wealthiest citizens of Carte. The district was richly appointed with manicured gardens, and wide, tree-lined boulevards. Although the onset of winter had rendered the trees bare, they still presented a grand sight. It was of stark contrast to the run-down filth and squalor that made its home by the docks on the west side of the city.
Kalfinar shifted uneasily in his saddle.
“What’s bothering you?” Broden asked.
“Not sure,” Kalfinar whispered through his teeth, though the wide boulevard they rode down was empty, save for some dour bird’s song. He whispered again, “I have a feeling we’re being watched.” His mouth became dry and a tense pressure throbbed at
the back of his skull. “Can you feel it?”
“I feel nothing but for the rumble in my belly. I’ll be wary of your caution though. Come on, let’s press. Judging by these directions, the house is only a little further on the right.”
As they approached their destination, Kalfinar turned around in his saddle, feeling something approach from behind. He glared up the boulevard they had just ridden down, awaiting the cause of his unease.
Broden stopped his mount. “What now?”
“Something’s coming.”
On Kalfinar’s words, Broden’s sword slid from its scabbard and he nudged his mount in line. The barely audible noise of marching could be heard at the top of the boulevard. A platoon of blue-liveried city guards came into view and halted upon seeing two large men with swords drawn ahead of them. The officer of the guards called out an order to dismount and disarm.
“Aye well, your senses are keen alright. Let’s hope our brothers-in-arms are in cordial mood this morning.” Kalfinar’s response was no more than a surly grunt as they dismounted and sheathed their weapons.
The city guard column numbered twenty men. They quickly approached, weapons ready and faces grim. Kalfinar and Broden shifted their long, grey traveller’s cloaks, revealing their dark green military tabards, the sight of which visibly eased the tension amongst the guardsmen.
The officer approached and spoke, “Good morning, brothers.”
Kalfinar and Broden returned the greeting.
“Tense times, you understand our need for caution. I’m sorry for any intrusion, but we must remain vigilant. I’m afraid when the only folk on the boulevard have swords drawn they warrant my attention. Your name, rank and purpose.” Although young, he held himself well and displayed an air of authority.
“My name is Captain Kalfinar, and my companion here is Captain Broden.” As Kalfinar spoke, the officer’s face revealed recognition. “We carry orders from the governor, and acting chief marshal, allowing our passage through the city unimpeded. As to our purpose, I seek the aid of the physician, for I carry a wound that needs his specialist attention.”
The officer nodded in agreement as Kalfinar silently requested permission to reach into his tabard for Governor Harruld’s order. He handed it across. The officer read the order and passed it back.
“I am sorry to have detained you both.” The young man saluted Kalfinar and Broden.
“It’s quite alright,” Kalfinar replied. “How fares the search of the city?”
“It fares badly, sir.” He rubbed at the back of his neck and sighed. “The townsfolk are displeased with our orders. We’re encountering much resistance searching houses and buildings. Many of our guardsmen have been in the infirmary with various bumps about the head, sustained across the city. There’re still no signs of any assassins. They’ll likely just have blended in with our people.” The officer’s face betrayed his weariness for an instant, ageing him, before he took a deep breath and puffed himself up once more.
“Perhaps not. They may stand out more than you think. It’s well worth the searching. Keep a strong hand…”
“Lieutenant Mikell, sir.”
“Well, Lieutenant, perhaps you’ll lose fewer men on this boulevard.” Kalfinar glanced at his surroundings. “It looks awfully polite here.”
Mikell grimaced. “The north quarter has been the worst yet. The rich seem much more precious about their privacy.” Lieutenant Mikell half-laughed as he spoke before adopting a look of feigned thought. “Perhaps they’re hiding something.”
“Perhaps they are. Good luck in any case. We’ll bid you farewell.” Kalfinar and Broden turned from the party and made their way towards Biscon’s gate.
Broden spoke, “Has that laid your mind at ease?”
“Not half.” Kalfinar rubbed his eyes. “I still feel uneasy, and my head is throbbing, worse than ever.” He squinted as he led his horse into the grounds of Biscon’s home.
*
The grounds were sprawling and well maintained. Despite the flowers of spring and summer having passed, there were several early winter blooms on show. The house itself appeared from the front to be a low, one storied building with a curved white plastered wall stretching around from the front and suggesting it covered a considerable area. Round windows peppered the wall every few feet, with copper frames surrounded multi-coloured glass. Well established rose bushes, clinging on to their last flowers of the season, grew up on trellises against the walls, stretching out to the green slate tiles of the roof. As they moved farther into the grounds, they noticed a high screen of trees growing around the back of the house, behind which was the suggestion of a copper shine.
“I wonder is this master of the house?” Kalfinar asked as he saw a tall man approach from an outbuilding across the lawn.
“I hope he’s a bit less of a bastard than the last physician we saw.”
Kalfinar stifled a laugh as the man approached.
“My lords, may I help you?” The man was thin with an ascetic appearance and spoke with an accent unfamiliar to them. He wore a sombre grey wool spun habit and black hose.
“Indeed you can,” Broden spoke with a broad smile. “I am Captain Broden and this sour fellow beside me is Captain Kalfinar. We seek the aid of the physician, Biscon. We have been directed here by friends.”
The man nodded. “The good physician is my employer. I shall take you to see him.” He turned and called to a youth who raked the last remaining leaves from beneath a grand cherry tree, “Boy, come take these horses to the stable and tend to them.”
The youngster dropped his rake and crossed the grounds to the gathered men with a lolloping gait before he led the horses away.
“He’s a good boy, but kicked by a horse at a young age. It’s strange, he has no fear of them now, and seems to understand them better than anyone I’ve seen before.”
Broden glanced wide eyed at Kalfinar and puffed his cheeks, unsure what to say. “Well, that’s excellent.”
“Quite.” The man replied. “Follow me,” the man said. “I shall take you to my master’s study.”
They followed the man into the home of the physician. The floor of the house was polished black wood, and the walls were of white washed plaster. They walked in the direction of the rear of the house, passing by several log fires which burned in fire places within comfortably appointed rooms. Upon the walls hung paintings of unusual landscapes and small tapestries illustrating the life of many species of animal. Amongst the countless book shelves stood taxidermy and terrariums containing obscure plants.
The man stopped them in front of a copper plated door. He knocked once and entered the room, leaving the two captains outside.
Kalfinar could feel his brow was beaded with sweat and he panted as his breath started to quicken.
A short moment later, the serving man exited the door. “He will see you.” He opened the door for them and they entered, descending a dozen steps down into the room.
The man stood to greet them from behind a huge desk that was covered in books and instruments of science. He wore a night blue gown trimmed with gold silk, fastened around his slight waist with a heavy leather belt. Upon his head he wore a red woollen cap, from which grey hair poked out of the bottom behind his ears. His eyes were unimaginably blue, and his face was deeply lined, like one that had seen too much sun and cold. “Good morning, gentlemen. I am Sarbien. Or as you may have been informed, Biscon. Just a little ruse to keep us all safe, you’ll understand.”
Kalfinar was struck by the appearance of the man, his features resembling those of Olmat, albeit considerably more vigorous. They exchanged courtesies as they approached the desk and, in turn, grasped the physician’s hand.
He moved to show them to a pair of cushioned leather chairs in front of his desk before himself perching upon its corner.
“I’ll not trouble you by asking why you have come to me, I know already. How I know, I will speak of that later. Firstly, Kalfinar, please remove your tabard, any mail and
undershirts. I must see this wound of yours.” With the slightest of limps, Sarbien walked to a cupboard behind his desk and removed a satchel.
Kalfinar stripped off his garments and hung them over the chair. The physician busied himself with the wound, cleaning and binding it with fresh bandages. “Your stitches can come out tomorrow. Olmat is right, you heal with extraordinary pace.”
Kalfinar caught the azure gaze of the old man and held it. “You know Olmat?”
“Aye, I know him well, lad.” He smiled at Kalfinar, revealing sparkling teeth before washing his hands in the bowl of petal-soaked water beside him.
Kalfinar looked puzzled for a moment. “I could have sworn Olmat said he didn’t know you.”
Sarbien laughed, “Ah, yes, he would say that. Now put your clothes on and give me what Olmat sent for me.” Again, the directness of Sarbien caught Kalfinar by surprise. The physician moved up the stairs towards the entrance of the domed office and opened the door. He whispered something to someone on the other side before closing the door and returning to his chair. “I’ve sent my daughter to fetch you some refreshments.”
“Wonderful,” Broden exclaimed. “Misery Guts there dragged me from my bed without even a bite of breakfast this morning.”
Kalfinar dressed himself, pulling his undershirt, mail and tabard on. When he was finished, he reached into his travel satchel and removed the jar. The fluid was clouded somewhat from the blood and tissue within. He handed it across to Sarbien.
A few moments later, the soft footfalls behind them indicated Sarbien’s daughter had arrived with the refreshments. Kalfinar looked intently at the jar as it rested in the middle of the desk. A pair of pale hands placed a tray on the desk, and the smell of strong coffee swept into his nostrils.
“Gentlemen,” Sarbien spoke, “allow me to introduce my daughter, Evelyne.”
Kalfinar nodded towards the lady, not paying any particular attention to her. He rubbed the back of his head and heard Broden greet the physician’s daughter.
