by Ben Cassidy
Kendril shot Maklavir a scathing glance.
Senna clucked her tongue and gave Kendril one more probing look. “More’s the pity.” She looked over the motley group. “So, who’s interested in some lunch?”
They chose a table in the corner of the common room, away from the door and the windows. Outside the icy wind howled unceasingly, but inside the blazing fire managed to keep the room at a tolerable, though still chilly, temperature.
Maklavir lifted a small glass of razvodit. “May your wife ever prove faithful, your dog ever be loyal, and the ice always be firm under your feet.” He downed the drink in one quick shot.
Kendril took a quiet sip of his beer. “I’ve never had a dog.”
“It’s a traditional toast,” Maklavir explained unnecessarily. He closed his eyes. “Eru, I’ve missed Valmingaard.”
“So,” said Kara as she settled back into her chair, “are we going to discuss our next move?”
Joseph pushed his empty plate forward on the table. “This Baron Dutraad is our man. He has to be the one who’s behind the assassin, and the one who wants this…what did you call it, Kendril?”
“Soulbinder,” the Ghostwalker replied quietly. He kept his hands cupped around his beer, staring at the front door of the inn from underneath the shadow of his raised hood.
“Yes,” said Maklavir, “and what is that, exactly? I think the time for being mysterious and cryptic about this whole affair is just about at an end, old chap.”
Joseph nodded. “I agree. I think we all deserve an explanation.”
Kendril paused for a long moment, staring down at his pewter mug. When he spoke, his voice was muted.
“During the great times of Despair there were pendants made, crafted from the very substance of the Void itself. They were designed to bridge the gap between the world of Zanthora and the world beyond, the realm of the spirits. They were known as Soulbinders.”
Kara leaned forward. “Spirits? You mean demons?”
Kendril gave a barely perceptible nod. “Demons. Spirits. Seteru. The old gods. They are all names for the same beings.”
Maklavir stroked his goatee thoughtfully. “This sounds like a bunch of old fairy stories to me, Kendril.”
The Ghostwalker looked over at Maklavir. “Maybe. But this pendant…the one Galla found in the ancient temple, matches the description of one of these Soulbinders. You saw it yourself, Maklavir, in the tome we found at the library.”
“And someone seems to want it enough to kill for it,” Joseph mused.
“You said these Soulbinders could bridge the gap between the Void and Zanthora,” said Kara. “How, exactly?”
Kendril crossed his arms. He glanced at the door to the common room. “The Seteru are spirit beings. To manifest themselves in the material world, here in Zanthora, is difficult for them. The Soulbinders were designed to create a link with a living being in the material world, someone to act as a host for the demon.”
Maklavir sat back in his chair. “What you are saying is insane, Kendril. Demons, Soulbinders…no rational person could believe any of this.”
“We have the record of history,” Joseph said, jabbing his finger at the table. “The Blessed Scriptures tell us—”
“Yes, well you’ll forgive me for saying so, Joseph, but not everyone holds the Blessed Scriptures with the same degree of uncritical veneration as you do.”
Joseph blanched. “History has proven the authority of the Scriptures, Maklavir. We know—”
Maklavir waved a hand. “Oh, don’t ply me with evidence, Joseph. You know very well that for every historical king or war that the Blessed Scriptures mentions, there’s some other myth or legend that makes no sense.” He glanced around the table. “All I’m saying is that we live in an age of reason, an era of rationality. The Seteru…the old gods are a product of the past, of superstition and fear. It’s hard to take any of this seriously.”
“Doesn’t reason leave any room for the supernatural?” Joseph said, continuing the argument. “For things that cannot be explained by what knowledge we happen to possess?”
“For demons manifesting themselves with the help of ancient jewels?” Maklavir shrugged. “That sounds more than a just a little far-fetched to me.”
“Then why would someone kill for this Soulbinder?” Joseph asked with a frown.
Maklavir gave the scout a sidelong glance. “Why would someone want to summon a demon from the Void?”
“I’m going after it,” said Kendril softly, interrupting their conversation. “I have to.”
Maklavir sniffed. “You think this Soulbinder is real? That there is some grand conspiracy to bring a Seteru into Zanthora?”
“I can’t afford not to,” the Ghostwalker responded evenly.
Kara looked over at him. “All right, let’s assume for a moment that this pendant really is a Soulbinder, and this Baron Dutraad or whoever is really planning to use it for something terrible. How exactly do you intend to go about getting it back? Walk up and knock on Dutraad’s front door?”
“If I have to,” Kendril said.
“We have to figure out if Dutraad even has it all first,” said Joseph. “We can’t just barge in to his house with guns blazing.”
Maklavir gave a smile. “Actually, I’m fairly certain Kendril could do just that.”
“The only thing connecting Dutraad to the assassin is the carriage,” said Kara quickly. “And we don’t know for certain that the carriage Joseph and I found is even the same.”
“The gendarmes are already looking for us,” Maklavir added. “The last thing we need is more attention-getting.”
Kendril stared at the common room’s fireplace. “We need to get into this Dutraad’s place unnoticed and look around.”
“Now look here, Kendril,” said Maklavir. “Baron Dutraad is a powerful man in Vorten, or at least he was back when I was at court. We can’t just burglarize his town home. He practically owns his own private militia, for Eru’s sake.”
Kendril glanced over at Maklavir. “There are other ways to sneak into a man’s home.”
Joseph rubbed his chin. “You’re talking about going in undercover?”
“Oh, this is ridiculous.” Maklavir pushed his chair back and stood. Several heads in the common room turned to see what the commotion was about. “It’s always about you, isn’t it Kendril? All your little conspiracies and violent tendencies…well I’m tired of it. I’m tired of all of it. It’s just another way to get us all killed, and for what? A strange looking ruby?”
Joseph started to stand as well. “Maklavir—”
“I’m not done yet,” the diplomat snapped. “In the last week I’ve almost been eaten by giant rats, had my throat cut by an assassin, and now I’m being hunted as a criminal. I’m done. I’m through. Whatever crazy scheme you’re concocting, Kendril, you can count me out of it.” Maklavir turned in a huff, his purple cape flipping behind him.
Kendril didn’t move from where he sat in his chair. “I need you, Maklavir.”
Maklavir spun back around. “And another thing—” He stopped mid-sentence. “I beg your pardon?”
“I need you for this to work.”
Maklavir tilted his head. “For what to work?”
“Getting into Dutraad’s town house. You’re from Valmingaard. You know the people, the customs. You were a part of the royal court.”
Maklavir looked away. “I was exiled from the royal court.”
“So you have a checkered past. Nobles love that.”
The diplomat hesitated. “I don’t know, Kendril—”
“We’ll re-make you,” the Ghostwalker continued. “Get you a new set of clothes, your own carriage. You’ll be the toast of Vorten, the talk of the upper class. By the time we’re done Baron Dutraad will be honored to have you in his home.”
Maklavir was visibly taken aback. “I—I’m not sure what to—”
Kendril took a deep breath. “Please, Maklavir. You’re the only one who can pull this off.�
��
Maklavir gave Kendril a probing look. “You’re really that desperate?”
“Yes.”
The diplomat thought for a moment. “So…new clothes, you say?”
“This will be expensive,” Joseph said in a low voice. “It might take most of the coins we have left.”
“So we have Kara swipe some valuables from Baron Dutraad once we’re inside,” said Kendril coolly. “Maybe we’ll even make a profit.”
Kara gave a smug smile. “Finally.”
Joseph glanced over at the red-headed thief. “We can’t—I mean we shouldn’t—”
Kendril smiled at Kara. “We’ll talk about it later,” he said with a wink.
Maklavir walked back to the table and sat down again. He gave Kendril a measured look. “You’re serious about this? This pendant is this important to you?”
The Ghostwalker returned his gaze. “Absolutely.”
Maklavir nodded slowly. “Alright then. I’m in. But I still think this whole idea is a complete waste of time.”
Kendril looked over at the other two inquiringly.
“A chance for burglary? You’ve got my vote,” Kara said with a sparkle in her eyes.
Joseph paused for a moment, thinking. “This will all take time,” he said. “We might not have it.”
“I’d say we have until the next new moon,” said Kendril.
Maklavir raised his eyebrows. “I’d ask you how in Zanthora you know that, but I don’t think I even want to know.”
“Alright,” said Joseph, “you have my support, Kendril. If you say this Soulbinder is worth tracking down, then I trust you.”
Kendril looked over at his friend, a surprised look on his face.
Kara cocked her head. “What’s wrong?”
The Ghostwalker looked down at the table. “Nothing. It’s just…it’s been a long time since I’ve heard someone say that to me.”
“Well,” said Maklavir smoothly, “if it makes you feel any better you won’t hear it from me.”
Kendril gave a sardonic smile. “Thank you, Maklavir. I appreciate that.”
Kara clapped her hands eagerly. “So, where do we start?”
Kendril pulled his chair closer to the table. “Listen up,” he said. “This is my plan…”
Chapter 14
“What about this one?”
Kendril turned, then weaved his way through the hulking pieces of snow-covered junk that filled the yard.
Kara brushed some ice off the side of what had once been a carriage. She gave an apologetic shrug. “At least it’s got three out of four wheels.”
Kendril ducked down and looked under the vehicle’s bottom. “Hmm. Rear axle’s busted. Suspension springs are pretty badly rusted.”
There was a loud squeal as Kara forced open the side door. “Ugh,” she said, crinkling her nose. “I don’t think you even want to look inside.”
Kendril straightened. “We have to find something we can fix up in a week or less.”
“At least Senna is letting us use that old warehouse in back of her tavern.” Kara ran a gloved hand over the broken carriage’s wheel. “What do you think the story between her and Maklavir is, anyway?”
Kendril scowled. “The less I know, the better.” He looked in through the open door. “That’s a lot of mold.”
“I wonder if Maklavir has ever actually been in a real relationship,” Kara mused. “You know, a girlfriend, wife…even a long term mistress.” She moved around the back of the carriage. “He’s really quite sweet. But his relationships just seem so…shallow.”
“Believe me,” said Kendril with a grunt, “I try to think about Maklavir and his relationships as little as humanly possible.” He leaned his head inside the coach. “We could tear this out, re-line the upholstery, repaint it…It doesn’t have to be perfect, just pass muster for a day or two.”
“I wonder if he got hurt.” Kara stepped to the other side of the carriage. She looked at Kendril through the open window on the other side. “That would explain a lot.”
Kendril tugged on one of the molded seats. “I’m not sure if anything would really explain Maklavir.” He gave the redhead a coy glance. “Besides, I would think that you would find Joseph’s love life a little more interesting to talk about.”
Kara blushed a bright red. She stepped back from the carriage’s window. “I think this could work,” she said with a nod toward the vehicle.
The Ghostwalker sighed. His eyes wandered over the wreck. “We certainly can’t afford to buy a new carriage. We’ll have to get a new wheel on this, then tow it back to the warehouse after dark.”
The thief smiled. “I’m sure Simon will love that.”
“He’s been getting too soft lately. A little hard work will be good for him.” Kendril gave one of the wheels a kick. Ice tumbled off the wooden rim. “I caught Senna giving him flenshi buns last night.”
Kara came around the side of the carriage. She gave Kendril a questioning look. “Senna…do you trust her?”
Kendril looked around, his eyes lighting on a nearby pile of junk. “More than I trust Maklavir.” He stepped over to the heap, and began rummaging through the snow-covered garbage. “If she wanted to turn us in to the gendarmes, she could have done it already. Besides, like you said, she and Maklavir have history.”
Kara crossed her arms. “That’s what worries me.”
Kendril pulled out an ice-encrusted wheel. “We don’t have a lot of other options, do we?” He turned over the wheel in his hands. “Hmm. We can fix the rim on this, then come back here later and attach it to the carriage.” He nodded to himself. “With luck we can start work on this tonight.”
Kara shivered as a cold wind cut through the yard. “This whole infiltration scheme of yours…you really think Maklavir is up to it?”
Kendril straightened up. “I trust him to get us into Dutraad’s manor.” He looked over at her. “I trust a thief to actually find the Soulbinder and get it back.”
“Well,” said Kara, “it sounds like you’ve got this all figured out, haven’t you?” She glanced back at the wrecked carriage behind them. “So where is Maklavir, anyways?”
“Hopefully,” said Kendril as he lifted the broken wheel, “doing something useful.”
“It’s no use. The documents are legitimate. The justice won’t bend.”
Baron Dutraad fumed silently, his fists balled on the top of the polished wooden table. His mustache bristled as his face contorted. He stood back up to his full height. “It’s my land.”
The elderly barrister, a man named Alfin, turned from the fireplace. “Not according to the title deed.” He clasped and unclasped his hands nervously behind his back. “I am sorry, my lord, but Sir Pekerin’s claim is impossible to refute. He has the paperwork—”
Dutraad turned from the desk in fury, his gaunt figure pacing back and forth across the chamber’s floor. From the room’s open door came the constant low mutter of voices echoing in the hallway just outside, a constant presence in the Vorten courthouse.
“We could appeal,” Alfin continued. He shrugged. “That could take months, however. The request would have to travel to Varnost, and then—”
“Vesuna’s blood, what do I pay you for?” Dutraad turned to the window and rocked back and forth on his heels. “Pekerin forged that document somehow. I know it. His family has never been near that land. They never staked a claim to it. Now suddenly he comes up with this…deed.” Dutraad swung around, his face menacing. “He’s cheating me, Alfin. I won’t stand for it.”
Alfin opened his mouth, but said nothing.
“You don’t have to stand for it, my lord.”
Dutraad whipped his head towards the door of the chamber.
A tall, clean-shaven man, finely dressed with a red cape, leaned against the door frame.
“Who the devil are you?” Dutraad snapped.
“Maklavir,” he said easily, “formerly of the royal court in Varnost.” He stepped into the room. “And you, unless
I am very much mistaken, are Baron Dutraad. It is an honor to meet you, sir.”
Dutraad turned his back. “I’m in the middle of something, Makladden.”
“Maklavir,” the diplomat corrected smoothly. He rubbed his smooth face, grimacing slightly as he remembered his lost goatee. “And you’re right. I had a look at Pekerin’s deed, and it is undoubtedly a forgery.”
Alfin’s mouth dropped open. “How in Zanthora did you see that? This is a private case, with decision still pend—”
Maklavir shrugged. “Justice Tenroliv and I go way back. I sponsored his son to the Royal Diplomatic Corps several years ago.” He flopped down into a chair by the table.
Dutraad watched him with a cold and measured stare. “This forgery? You can prove it?”
Maklavir kicked up his feet casually on the table, then folded his hands behind his head. “Not really. It’s a sharp job.”
Alfin snorted. “Then how do you know it’s a fake?”
Maklavir looked up at the gray-haired man. “Trust me, when you have worked with legal documents as long as I have, you can spot a fake even if you can’t prove it.”
The obviously-much older barrister stiffened. He looked over imploringly at Dutraad. “I beg you, my lord, have this man ejected and let us get back to the matter at hand. We need—”
Dutraad raised a hand, and Alfin fell silent. “Leave us,” he said quietly.
Alfin gave a relieved nod. “Yes. Now, my lord, we must—”
Dutraad didn’t look at him. “Not him. You.”
The elderly barrister gaped at Dutraad in astonishment, then looked over at Maklavir.
The young diplomat gave an apologetic smile.
Alfin gathered some papers off the table, gave Dutraad once last look, then exited the room. He closed the door softly behind him.
“Did Pekerin send you?” Dutraad asked.
“Great Eru, no,” said Maklavir scornfully. “Quite the opposite, old man. I’m here to help you.”
Dutraad gave the thinnest of smiles. “You’ll forgive me if I’m a bit skeptical. Your arrival here seems more than a little convenient.”
