The Inquisitives [3] Legacy of the Wolves

by Rockwell, Marsheila

  And as the second undead creature lunged at him, he noted the scabbards still riding on both the thing’s hips and the red and yellow markings on its arms, and the awful realization hit him, worse than any physical blow.

  Thorn.

  Or what was left of him, anyway.

  And then the wight lashed out at him with a heavy foot, sending him sprawling, and Andri was too busy fighting for his life to wonder how the shifter guard had come to be there.

  He climbed to his feet, his blade tracing a path of fire in front of him as he readied himself. And then he charged.

  “For the Flame!”

  Chapter

  EIGHT

  Sul, Therendor 22, 998 YK

  Greddark urged his mount up a small rise and caught sight of a shimmer in the distance that could only be Lake Arul, reflecting the light of the warm afternoon sun. Though he was too far away from Aruldusk to hear the city’s signature carillons, he guessed the time was just past the second bell. He reined in the mare he’d purchased from one of the few merchants still open on the weekly Day of Cleansing—a fact which allowed the impious man to charge Greddark a ridiculous price. But she was docile and fairly nimble, he reflected as he led the horse back down the rise. She might actually be worth half of what he’d paid for her.

  He dismounted and tethered the mare to a small, stunted tree. He climbed back up the knoll, crouching low when he reached the crest so as not to stand out against the skyline. Pulling a spyglass out from his long coat, he surveyed the shoreline. He located the compound easily. With a high palisade that encompassed a large house, a sizeable stable, a corral, several barns and outbuildings, and at least a hundred acres of rangeland, he would have to be blind to miss it. Damn. He had hoped he might be able to walk into the compound without being noticed, but the stockade thoroughly quashed that overly optimistic plan.

  As Greddark scrutinized the wooden fortification, he saw no sentries, though the timbers themselves were sharpened and tipped with iron. Telltale blue sparks arced between the iron spikes, revealing the existence of lightning-based wards meant to keep both predators from entering and livestock from escaping. The high gates were open and seemed to be untended, though he had no doubt that the entrance to the compound was ensorcelled. Still, if you weren’t interested in announcing your arrival, it was much easier to get around spells of warding than a bevy of gate guards.

  Especially if you were a member of the same House that operated the Warding Guild.

  Though he spent long moments examining the gates through the glass, without getting up close and personal—which he certainly wasn’t going to risk in the middle of the day—there was no way he could determine which type of ward they might be using.

  Well, no matter. He’d find another way in.

  He turned his attention back to the palisade, watching the faint white flashes that jumped from tip to tip like miniature lightning bolts. He had tried to bypass similar wards only once before, with disastrous results. He was hoping he wouldn’t need to try it again, but he’d have to study the spell mechanism more closely to figure out how, and it was going to take some time. More time than he was comfortable spending so close to the road, exposed to anyone who might be coming along behind him from Aruldusk.

  Greddark crept back down the knoll and untied the mare, leading her north, away from the muddy track but parallel to the stockade. After about a mile, he found a small copse where the horse could rest unseen while he continued his perusal.

  Climbing one of the taller, sturdier trees in the thicket, he picked a spot on a branch, pulled out his glass and bit of jerky, and settled in to watch and wait.

  An hour later, Greddark saw what he’d been waiting for. A flock of birds flew in from the west, heading for the fresh water of the lake. Thirty feet up, they cawed back and forth to each other as they passed over the stockade, blissfully unaware of the fiery death that sparked along the metal tips below them. A straggler, its wing trailing awkwardly as if it had been injured, flew lower than the others, perhaps fifteen feet above the tops of the timbers.

  Too close.

  Like a wick dipped in oil and dangled too near a lit candle, the bird’s wingtip brushed the top of the invisible barrier and burst into flame. The unlucky fowl was consumed within seconds and hurtled to the ground behind the stockade, a smoking ball of fire and feathers.

  So. He would not be going over the barricade. There was likely an approach on the lake side. Though he hadn’t been able to see far enough to determine if there were docks, he had to assume the Vadalis handlers had chosen this location because they trafficked in aquatic as well as earthbound animals. He also had to assume that any approach from the water would be just as well warded as the palisade itself. In any event, it was too far around—he didn’t have the time to circumnavigate the compound and then search for a way in. Nor did he have time to try and go beneath the wooden stockade.

  That left only one option, short of marching up to the gate, knocking and introducing himself.

  He was going to have to go through the warded timbers. Damn.

  Greddark waited in the copse until nightfall, sharing a meal of new spring apples and bread with his horse before heading out, crouching and slinking from bush to tree to boulder as he made his way to the stockade. As he neared, he saw that the fortification was not made entirely of wood. Every third timber had an iron strap bolted along its length. Good. That meant the wards were likely tied to the metal, and so would not extend outward from the stockade, but he had to be sure. He gathered a handful of large rocks and threw them toward the timbers, each one a little closer than the last, the final rock landing less than an inch from the one of the wooden poles. When no fireworks ensued, he decided it was safe to approach.

  Though he’d seen the wards immolate a small bird, he knew they would cause less damage to a larger creature—the defenses were meant to deter, not kill, and House Vadalis wouldn’t use measures that might cripple their own wayward livestock. But how much damage would touching the stockade cause? Burns, undoubtedly. And probably some sort of paralysis—temporary, but long enough for curious guards to come looking for whatever had triggered their spell. They wouldn’t come for something as insignificant as a bird. The disruption probably wouldn’t even register with whoever was monitoring the wards. A creature the size of a dwarf, however, was going to set off alarm bells and bring them running.

  No, he was going to have to avoid the wards completely. And the only thing he had with him that would allow him to do that was his planar doorway—the same one that had gotten Yaradala d’Medani killed and him exiled from both the Tower of the Twelve and Karrnath. Simply creating an ethereal door would not work. It would allow passageway through the timber but would not protect him from the warding spell. The only way to bypass both the physical and the magical barriers was to open a doorway through the stockade and then shift to another plane as he stepped through, returning instantly to the material plane on the other side of the wall.

  Easier said than done—he’d been rooming with a sorcerer from Thrane when he’d first come up with the idea, and with Fedin’s help, he’d been able to open the doorway with relative ease. Unfortunately, since Fedin’s focus for the spell had been a rod of flametouched iron, the plane they’d stepped through was Fernia, the Sea of Fire. It had taken the Tower healers several days to heal all their burns and regenerate new skin. After that, Fedin had asked for a different roommate.

  But once he knew the planar doorway would work, it didn’t take Greddark long to find another sorcerer to help him, this one an elf from House Phiarlan. With a slim dagger of rare byeshk for a focus, the doorway they fashioned opened onto a peaceful courtyard in one of the floating crystalline cities of Syrania, the plane of Azure Sky.

  What Greddark hadn’t realized when he’d lent the dagger to Yaradala was that, while the cities in Syrania moved, the doorway he’d created didn’t, so when the girl had tried to use the portal, she’d stepped through into nothing but ai
r. Even if the fall hadn’t killed her, the wards she set off when she landed on the other side would have. Her charred, broken corpse hadn’t been a pretty sight, and Greddark had since acquired a feather fall token from a colleague in Sharn, in case he ever needed to try the planar doorway again. From what he understood of the token, it should be enough to save him from Yaradala’s gruesome fate.

  Should.

  He dug the token out from an inner pocket and held it in his left hand. With his right, he plucked the dagger-shaped charm from his golden bracer, a wand bracelet he’d modified to look more masculine and hold twice the number of usual ornaments. The dagger grew in his hand, from one inch to a foot in length. With a brief prayer to Olladra and Onatar, he stepped up to the stockade and thrust the byeshk blade in between two timbers, half-expecting to hear the crackle of lightning and feel the heat and shock as the magic of the wards coursed through him. Instead, he felt a familiar stretching sensation as the invisible portal opened before him. He knew it was working when he saw that the iron on the two nearest metal-strapped timbers no longer sparked.

  Taking a deep breath, Greddark walked into the wall.

  The sky about him was cloudless and a deeper, more vibrant blue than he’d ever seen. In the distance, a city floated, sparkling in the sunlight like a diamond. Nearby, an emerald-skinned human with large white-feathered wings paused in its graceful flight to glance in his direction, the angel’s beautiful features marred by surprise. For the briefest of moments, Greddark was enveloped in utter, idyllic peace.

  And then he was falling, falling through an endless cerulean expanse, his mind coldly telling him that he had nothing to fear, for there was no ground to hit, but his heedless heart threatening to burst from sheer terror regardless. He clutched at the feather fall token, struggling to slow his tumbling descent through perfection, sure he was going to die, just like Yaradala …

  … and then his foot hit the ground on the other side of the stockade and he was inside the House Vadalis compound. Still shaken, he barely remembered to summon the byeshk dagger through the portal before it closed behind him. As he replaced the now shrunken charm back on his bracelet, he breathed a sigh of relief and promised a hefty donation at the next Host temple he came across. Of course, considering that he was in Thrane, that could take awhile, but he wasn’t worried—the Sovereigns were patient.

  The interior of the compound was dotted with the same low-lying scrub and stunted trees that marked most of the area this close to the lake. The moonlight made the vegetation and intermittent rocks luminous, in stark contrast with their black shadows. It also illuminated him plainly for anyone to see. Digging into yet another pocket, he found a flask made of thick crystal and uncorked it, downing the salty potion with a grimace. It would only keep him invisible until he spoke or made any violent movements, but he wasn’t planning on doing either of those things—at least, not until he found Kyrin.

  He’d begin in the barns. They were the most likely place to house something as exotic as a magebred ghost tiger, and if Kyrin was its handler, he wouldn’t be too far away from it. Greddark could only hope they didn’t treat the beast as a pet and let it sleep in the house, but with House Vadalis, you could never tell. Some of them treated their animals better than their heirs. And judging from some of the members of House Vadalis he’d met at the Tower of the Twelve, they had good cause.

  From his perch in the tree, he hadn’t had a good enough angle to see far into the compound, so he wasn’t sure exactly what sort of livestock he’d encounter in the open range. He hoped it wasn’t carnivorous, aggressive, or overly curious. The potion’s effects would not hide his scent, and even a brief encounter with a sniffing nose could render him visible before he was ready. As he crept toward the nearest barn, he kept a sharp eye out for cattle or sheep, but while he heard lowing in the distance, he saw nothing. If luck was with him, the herds had already bedded down for the night closer to Lake Arul, their nearest source of water.

  The barn doors were closed and barred from the inside, but he was able to move a barrel under a row of low windows and peer in through an open shutter. From the smell, the windows were located directly above a feed trough that hadn’t been properly cleaned in quite some time. Or perhaps the stench came from the pigs he heard snuffling and squealing in their stalls. No tiger here, then—that would be like letting a halfling sleep in the larder.

  The next barn held dairy cows—magebred, by the size of their udders. He could not tell what the third held, as the chicken coops had been located beneath the only accessible windows, and he couldn’t risk disturbing the noisy hens by climbing on top of the wooden cages. But he doubted the birds could sleep so calmly if there was a tiger prowling just on the other side of the wall, so that left the fourth and final barn.

  As with the other barns, the doors were closed and barred, but a window showed a faint light burning inside. There were no convenient barrels, so he pulled out a series of tubes and quickly assembled them into a long S-shaped contraption with mirrors located in the angled pieces. With it, he could view the inside of the barn, though his field of vision was quite limited.

  Placing the tube up to his eye, he saw several empty cages, stacked boxes, barrels, and, at the edge of his vision, a blanket spread out over a bed of hay and two pairs of legs entwined.

  Unable to see more, regardless of how he angled the tube, he pressed his ear to the barn wall and strained to hear.

  Two voices, a male and a female, probably human. Laughter. A low growl, and a sudden note of fear in the female’s voice. As he looked back through the tube, the slimmer set of legs disappeared from view, followed quickly by the other pair. The male voice, pleading.

  Realizing what was happening, Greddark quickly disassembled the tube and shoved it in a pocket, then hurried to the barn door, just as it opened and a pretty human female stormed out, still buttoning her blouse. A bare-chested male with bright copper hair hurried after her, trying to pull on his boots as he followed her out of the barn. The Mark of Handling was a black swirl across his shoulder.

  “Gaida, I’m sorry! You know I’d never let her hurt you … Gaida!”

  The girl turned to face the dragonmarked handler, and even Eyre’s waxing light could not hide the flush of anger that stained her cheeks.

  “No, Kyrin. I’m done with this. You said you brought me out here to comfort me, and instead you let that … that thing … watch us …” She trailed off, her rage momentarily too great for words as d’Vadalis finally got his boots on and caught up to her. When he reached for her, she slapped his hands away. “No! How am I supposed to forget about Demi, when that thrice-damned cat is just staring at me like it wants to eat me? Forget about him? I feel just like him!”

  With that, she spat full in the handler’s face, then turned and stomped off to the house. Kyrin just stood there and watched her go, not even bothering to wipe the spittle away.

  “Bitch!” he hissed with sudden venom and whirled around, heading back to the barn. Greddark had to hurry to get inside before d’Vadalis closed the door, slamming it home with a muttered curse.

  Greddark waited until the handler had turned his back to the door before speaking.

  “Kyrin d’Vadalis, I have a few questions for you regarding the death of Demodir Imaradi.”

  Kyrin whirled, his hand going for a scabbard he no longer wore.

  “Who—?” He caught sight of Greddark, who had materialized when he challenged the handler. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

  “I’m an inquisitive from—” Greddark began, only to be interrupted.

  “Maellas has no authority here. This is House Vadalis property.”

  “—from House Kundarak,” Greddark finished. He wasn’t here on House business, of course—far from it—but it wouldn’t hurt to let the man believe he was. “So don’t think I’ll be frightened by threats of your House’s wrath. I’d wager Vadalis needs Kundarak a lot more than Kundarak needs Vadalis—at least when it comes to ru
nning this little operation.”

  Kyrin’s eyes narrowed to green slits.

  “Who sent you? Imaradi didn’t have any ties to Kundarak.”

  “That you were aware of.”

  The man paled. Good. At least he was smart enough to be afraid of facing House justice, even if he held the local authorities in contempt.

  “Why don’t you tell me what happened? Everyone knows you and Demodir were after the same girl. Did you decide to take out the competition?”

  Kyrin’s jaw flexed, but the man said nothing as Greddark continued.

  “Because if that’s what you were trying to do, you should know your job’s not quite finished. Gaida has at least another handful of suitors you’ll need to get rid of. Unless you’re planning on using your pet tiger to take care of them, too?”

  Greddark had hoped to goad the handler into a confession, but as an oily smile spread across Kyrin’s features, he realized he’d made a mistake.

  “Maybe. But first I’ll have her take care of you.” The dragonmark on d’Vadalis’s shoulder glowed. “Sharihon! Attack!”

  A big mistake.

  Another growl sounded, this time from above. The tiger, it seemed, was not caged.

  Greddark threw himself to the side as the magebred ghost tiger leapt down from the loft, its claws digging into the dirt floor where he had just been. As he rolled to his feet, the black and white-striped tiger wrenched its claws out of the floor, spraying dirt, and turned to face him, baring its preternaturally long teeth.

  The big cat advanced, eerily silent now as it slunk toward him, its tail lashing back and forth in anticipation.

  “I don’t want to hurt your pet, boy,” Greddark said, unsheathing his alchemy blade and priming it as he backed away from the tiger. With the push of a button, alchemist’s fire would course down grooves in the blade and set it aflame. “Or should I say, King Boranel’s pet?”

  He risked a glance over at d’Vadalis, who had run back to the hay to retrieve his own weapon—a longsword, Greddark couldn’t help noticing, and just the right length to have caused the wound that killed Demodir.