“Sit,” Dech said around a mouthful of food. “You’re Jean if memory serves.”
“It does,” the man said as he placed the tankard on the tabletop, slid a chair out, and sat. “Most don’t remember me. Handy in my line.”
“I would imagine. I’m guessing you think you have something for me.”
“Sure of it to speak true. You’re tracking ol’ King Lunacy. He was here a week ago as you well know.”
Dech stopped eating and sized up Jean. His estimate was the man did indeed know something. “Here, as in this very place?”
Jean smiled. “Sat not ten paces from the door you passed through coming in. There’s more… much more.”
“What will it cost me to hear it?”
“You’re Dech. Once one of King Harold’s best men in Arataine. I remember you as well. We’ve done business before… two years ago. You’ll pay me what it’s worth to you after I tell you.”
“And you’ll trust me to arrive at a fair sum?”
“That’s right. You’re not like most. A fair man in a corrupt world it’s said. An appraisal I’ve repeated to those who asked and paid. So, we have a deal?”
“We do,” Dech said as he bit into a slice of bread.
“Malig was here, as I said,” Jean started. “A couple dozen men-at-arms attended him, more outside. Before they got too far into their cups, I heard them talking about how many men they’d picked up recruiting far and wide. No solid numbers, but they sounded happy. Sending them west. Make of that what you will.
“Not long after, this mage comes in with a couple of Malig’s men and says he had a proposition for the exiled king. Said he wanted to serve him. Said he was running from contrition knights. That seemed to perk up Malig. After a talk, it appeared the exiled mage and exiled king made a deal. Mage sat next to Malig like they was tight friends. Sometime later, things took a turn toward the lucrative side… for the likes of me at least.”
Dech said nothing, but gestured for the man to continue.
Jean smiled and said, “A strange figure comes in, robe covering every bit of him. Calls out Malig’s new mage. They were both practitioners of what they called derkunblod. Didn’t know what that was, but I soon learned. This new arrival shrugged off some form of flame spell and turned Malig’s mage into nothing but a few baubles on the floor.” He shook his head and continued. “You won’t believe who this robed man was.”
“You better hope I do. If I do not, you stand little chance to make much coin.”
“Olk Mirkness, that’s who he was.”
Dech raised an eyebrow.
“So you have heard of him at least. Supposed to have died long ago. A master of this derkunblod. You know it?”
“I have heard the term,” Dech replied.
“Darkness and blood is what it means in one of the old tongues. Asked around about it and learned only a bit. Whatever it is, it’s old and powerful if what Olk did to that magicker was any indication.”
“Any evidence to confirm this mage actually was Mirkness?”
“He burned the other mage from the inside out without singeing another blessed thing. A man that can do that is one I’ll take at his word. One last thing. I know where Malig was headed from here.”
“And where might that be?” Dech asked as he dug into a pouch on his belt and retrieved a bag of coins.
“Ollentree, a hermitage west of here. Something there Olk wished to do.”
“So Malig and Olk are together now?”
“Can’t say, but they left together. Word was they were heading to march those they recruited around here west, but first they was going to this Ollentree. By all appearances, they reached some accord.”
Dech pulled a coin from the bag and placed it on the table while concealing it with his hand. He put a slice of bread over the coin and slid both toward Jean.
The informant deftly drew the coin into his hand and raised both eyebrows when he saw Dech’s payment. “An Arataine half-mark? A quarter of a florin? The order is truly generous.”
“That also pays for your silence about anything we discussed.”
Jean looked upward and scratched his head dramatically. “As I recall, all we discussed was traffic on the bridge. Who would possibly care about that?”
Dech shrugged. “Maybe I overpaid then. Keep it and I’ll consider it a lesson learned.”
Jean laughed and leaned over the table and said, “No mucking about for you. That’s the way I like it. I can be hired to ferret out specific information. All one must do is ask.”
“I’ll consider that.”
Jean smiled. “Well then, is there anything else we need to discuss?”
Dech shook his head.
“Thank you for the bread. Stop by anytime,” he said as he slid his chair out. Jean stood, taking a bite of bread and leaving the tankard on the table before he walked to the entrance and left. Dech followed a short time later after he finished his food.
He recovered his horses and made his way a short distance west to the town of Tynin, a moderate sized and prosperous town that made its mark though the trade of goods headed for, or coming from, Arataine.
ALMAR’S APOTHECARY & ALCHEMICAL read the hanging placard in front of the location where he stopped. Dech tethered his horses and made his way to the door. An elvan woman exited as he neared, prompting him to step aside and dip his head politely. She looked at him in distaste and walked away without a word. Whether a dislike of humans, Aratainians, or contrition knights was her source of displeasure, Dech could not know. He stepped inside and saw shelves with boxes, bags, bottles, and paper envelopes of raw or refined ingredients and substances. Books and scrolls filled a shelf running along the back wall. Behind the counter was a work surface with alembics and other retorts, mortars of varying sizes, and shelves full of countless items for the making of medicines and myriad other concoctions. The elderly man behind the counter looked over his shoulder from his work and smiled when he saw Dech.
“Ah, the order has yet to kill you I see. I’m sure it is not for lack of trying,” the man said. “No wounds to treat it appears. You do not look ill. Alchemical interest?”
“Geographical.”
“Interesting. Not sure how much help I’ll be there, but that remains to be seen,” the man said as he continued his work.
Dech rested his elbows on the counter. “Ollentree. What do you know of it?”
“Not a lot. They’ve little use for my wares. Mages’ hermitage, that’s Ollentree. They stay clear of most others because of their practices.” The man set aside a mortar and pestle before turning toward Dech and looking around the shop to ensure they were alone. In a hushed tone he said, “Derkunblod. An old word meaning darkness and blood or dark and blood. That’s their brand of magic. Banned in some places, frowned upon most others. It’s an old study, I know that and not much more. I won’t ask why you need to go there, but I’ll tell you how you can. Ride west out of town. Take the first road south at the signs, the Forest Road. About nine miles down you’ll see a trail cutting into the trees west, a stone arch at the tree line. That’s them. Not far from the Brosalean.”
The Brosalean was a heavily wooded and fiercely guarded area that encompassed parts of Arataine, Byrmont, and Nevar. Cloaked in mystery and home to strange and powerful forces, it was not a place ventured into lightly.
“Does the hermitage have any connections to those in the Brosalean?” Dech asked.
“I doubt it. If they did, I’d imagine they’d be living there. Whether they do or not, I’d appreciate it if you neglect to mention I told you anything about them.”
“Never heard of Almar,” Dech said. “What do I owe you?”
“Not a copper. Perhaps you might remember me once you return to Arataine. Mention me to travelers headed west?”
“I can manage that,” Dech replied with a smile.
“Superb. Just don’t get turned to ashes by those mages. Wouldn’t do either of us any good.”
. . .
As he neared, one of the sergeants took a hand from his glaive and held it up in greeting.
“Hail, sir knight. Contrition Order, yes?”
“I am.”
“Here about the incident?”
“No. What happened?”
“Cannot say as I do not know. Two of the grand duke’s magickers are at the hermitage now. They might tell you. You order knights know a bit of the arts, yes? Might could use your knowledge. Don’t mention I told you, but this is a baffling thing to the magickers.”
“I thank you for your help,” Dech said.
The trip to the hermitage was not a long one. A winding trail through dense woods and undergrowth kept Dech blind to the place until he was very near, but the lingering smell of burnt wood and charred human flesh greeted him long before that.
He tethered his horses near the entrance into a clearing edged by a wooden wall away from the mages’ mounts and walked in. An elvan man and human woman knelt near a partially burned shack and watched him as he approached. Charred and nearly consumed corpses littered the ground, most of them beyond being recognizable. The shack was the only structure within the wooden walls that was even partially intact. Dech considered taking the sheath from his medallion to ward off magic, but knowing it might disrupt the mages efforts and show distrust, he chose not to.
“The order has an interest in Byrmont matters?” the woman asked warily.
“No. An interest in those that lived here. I assume there were no survivors.”
“As far as we know. A large force of men was here based on the tracks.”
“A few women as well,” Dech offered, scanning the ground as he neared the pair. “All humans or elves it appears.”
“You can track?” the elvan man asked.
Dech nodded.
“If you can give us an idea of how many were here and share anything else you might find, we’ll share what we know.”
Dech nodded again. “Fair enough.” He looked along the line of ashes that marked the row of shacks that once stood in the area and said, “You’ve walked through here, but it doesn’t look like you’ve obscured the tracks much. I think I can provide an estimate at least.”
“We have an agreement then,” the woman said. “I am Malia, this is Edgar. Mages in Grand Duke Charles’ service.”
“Dech,” the warder replied.
He walked the area for quite a while and by the time he had reached some conclusions, the two mages stood near the entrance to the area.
“Did you find anything?” Edgar asked as Dech stopped next to them. A gold elf, Edgar was nearly as tall as Malia and long of limb as most of his kind were. By far the most common race of elves in the Southerlies, the blond and light-brown-skinned gold elves were a common sight in Arataine and Byrmont.
“Quite a bit.” He pointed to a corner of the wooden wall near one end of the row of shacks. Burned to the ground much like the other structures, there were several posts and planks scattered across the clearing nearby. “They came in from there. Twenty-five or thirty of them. Used something to breach the wall in a rather spectacular way. Magic I assume. They didn’t follow the trail in. They came through the woods. There were four men killed or wounded near the fence the attackers took with them when they left by the same route. Some of those here were killed by arrow and sword, but most show no signs of how they died. I assume magic again. Nearly all of the tracks belonged to fighters running to the buildings. I’m guessing they burned them after they killed all of those who dwelled here. One man, a large one if his boot prints are any indicator, stood near the end there where they entered. The other tracks cross his several times meaning he stayed put while all of this occurred. He left with the rest.”
The two mages looked highly impressed.
“No animals have been here since the attack either,” Dech said. “Even with the smell of fire, scavengers would normally have made an appearance by now.”
“An interesting observation,” Malia said with a nod. “Very thorough.”
“And forthcoming,” Edgar added. “That clears up some issues, does it not?” he said to his colleague.
“It does,” she replied.
“This was a hermitage of derkunblod practitioners. You knew this?” Edgar said.
“I did,” Dech answered.
“It appears the assailants brought a practitioner of their own. It is magic, but not anything like we have encountered before. We can sense it, but it will take some doing to understand it. Such magic draws from a source unknown to us.”
“And it was the only magic used here,” Malia said. “Do you know anything of this?”
Dech shook his head. “Very little. That was the purpose of my visit. Some of my brethren pursued a practitioner of this magic recently. A murderer. He crossed the Black River and escaped. I was asked to look into this.”
“Could this be the mage that was part of the assault here?” Edgar asked.
“I have no way of knowing,” Dech said. If Jean’s information was accurate, the escaped mage was dead and the assailant here was likely Olk Mirkness, if that was possible. Not knowing, Dech chose to keep this information to himself.
“They slaughtered the people who lived here for a reason,” Malia said.
“Rivals within a society we are unaware of?” Edgar suggested.
Malia looked at Dech as if she expected a reply. He shook his head and said, “I can read tracks well enough. I am not an accomplished mage nor am I an authority on obscure magic.”
Edgar sighed. “We may need to seek such if we want answers. Thank you for your help. Sir Dech. If we learn more, we will relay it to King Harold’s mages if it appears to be a threat.”
“I’m sure they would be appreciative if you did.”
The two offered their hands in parting and with each he could feel their attempts at divining his magical potential, probing he was able to sense and block.
As the two mounted their horses, they looked over the destroyed hermitage once again.
“Never seen the like,” Edgar said with a shake of his head.
“Delving into odd powers,” Malia added. “Powers that are best left untouched I think.”
“Rumors of Olk Mirkness arising again and now this.”
“Aye, and I’ll let you guess where that got its start. One of these fools shows his powers and then this. Hopefully this is the last we hear of it.”
“Do you honestly think so?” Dech asked.
Malia shook her head. “No. I hope, but hope is often in vain. I also hope we meet again sometime.”
“As do I,” Edgar said.
“Let us hope it’s under better circumstances.”
Dech mounted and the three rode out in single file, the warder taking up the rear. He drew his leather gloves from his belt, his right hand still tingling from the probing, a common practice among mages. Dech’s conventional magical abilities were meager, but he’d long ago learned to hide something that dwelled within him. As a child he found he was prone to rage, but knowing such behavior was unacceptable, he had learned to control it. In doing so, he also learned to channel it, to meter how far into it he might delve. Allan had touched on this when he spoke of Dech’s ferocity during his visit, but even his friend didn’t know Dech’s secret. Only Ceresia, his late wife, ever knew. When the mages that worked with contrition knights taught him to ward off the divining probes of others, it seemed to them Dech possessed a natural affinity for it, never guessing he’d been doing it for years.
As Dech grew older, he tried to learn about his ability
and concluded he was in fact a rager, something that affected only those with certain strains of highland blood. Never studied to any great extent, the rage—called the Redewrath in an ancient tongue—was thought to be magical, but of an ancient source and rumored to be of infernal origins. Of little interest to conventional mages, the rage was simply considered a sometimes dangerous oddity limited to the wild warriors of the highlands in the distant west and some of their scattered descendants.
. . .
After exploring the road and finding evidence the force that destroyed the hermitage departed to the south, Dech returned to Arataine knowing it would be unwise to pursue the matter any farther. He knew the Forest Road the assailants took turned west to skirt the Brosalean’s undefined northern side and went deeper into Byrmont. He traveled to Muncian, a location contrition knight road patrols used as a field base for the area and likely the one that hosted those who pursued the mage Olk killed, if there was any veracity to the information Jean provided.
A stop at the contrition knight post confirmed an incident did actually occur, a report detailing the pursuit supporting a mage in service to King Harold who was tracking a rogue magic practitioner. The king’s mage was named Otis McGrew, but that was the extent of the information about the man. Dech left soon after to speak with the pair of patrolling knights in hope they knew McGrew’s location. Fortunately they were not far away when he found their five-member patrol.
“We were pulled from the section to assist the mage McGrew,” one of the knights said. “He told us this mage had burned a merchant to ashes and was fleeing west, so west we went. We’d drawn near in the dark, but he made Byrmont before we caught up to him. The mage crossed at the ford south of the bridge and managed to lose his ill-gotten gains in the water. McGrew divined where it was and I was able to recover it… for all the good it does the merchant. Likely he has family though. We didn’t have any call to enter Byrmont, so we returned.”
“Did this McGrew say anything about the magic this mage practiced?”
“Not a word.”
“Do you know where McGrew was headed when you parted ways?”
The Warder Page 6