“I do,” Dech said. “Royal Mage, alchemist, barber-surgeon, and king’s advisor.”
Harold’s face grew tight. “Was. He is no longer. No longer a mage, alchemist. barber-surgeon, or advisor. No longer among the living either. Assassinated in his tower last night by all accounts. You will aid me in finding the killer and learn why it occurred.” He gestured at the mage Wace. “He shall oversee the inquiry. Knight-Commander Oliver Brundell will accompany.”
“Where is this tower?”
“Less than half a day’s ride east of the city,” the mage Wace replied.
“When do we depart?” Dech asked looking between the mage and the king.
“As soon as possible,” Wace said. “We await the arrival of Sir Oliver.”
“It’s been some time, but the two of you have a history, do you not?” Lord Havers said to Dech. “A rivalry as I recall.”
Dech stared at the man until Havers looked away, his eyes settling on the king.
“I chose Sir Dech over Sir Oliver for knight-commander at one time,” Harold said. “There should be no issues. They are peers.”
“The king’s knight-commander and a warder of contrition knights are peers?” Viviane said with amusement.
“They are,” Lord Arundel said with a hard look at Viviane. “Status within the military order applies among the knightly ranks in every way save for the application of nobility. Warder and knight-commander are equivalent positions, and Sir Dech has held both. From personal experience on the battlefield, contrition knights are the more lethal.”
“Veiled threats, Gilbert?”
“Clear facts, Viviane. Truth beyond your experience.”
“Enough,” Harold said. “Conway, Dech, find Sir Oliver and be on your way. I want answers tomorrow.”
The two stood and paid their respects before exiting.
“This way,” Wace said. “No need to mill with those in the throne room. They look upon me in the same manner as they do you.”
“Not a court mage then?”
Wace humphed. “I am a working breed. Based on what I have heard, you are as well. Last I heard Sir Oliver was seeing to his mount.”
“Mine are at the order house. Should I meet you at the east gate?”
“Yes. I will gather our third.”
. . .
“Duke Frederick still holds ill feelings over your sparing Sir Dech,” Vivian Henning said. “Largely toward the warder, but some saved for you as well.”
“He holds ill toward the wrong man,” King Harold replied. “Frederick is a most able leader to have on the marches with Marador, but he is lacking in understanding of the political machinations that go on in places such as here. A margrave by nature and duke by necessity.”
“Sire, if I might, why did you spare Crouse considering the feelings Duke Frederick holds?”
“Frederick’s feelings toward Sir Dech rank rather low on the list of my concerns. As to why? You were not here when Sir Dech served, so you do not realize what an asset he was and still is.”
“You’re not a knight, so perhaps it is beyond you,” Gilbert Arundel said. “A better knight you won’t find outside bard’s tales or the sagas. Laid waste to those he opposed on the tourney circuit as a young man and then did the same to Malig’s best in the Throne War. A knight-commander at twenty-three. A—”
“Disgraced at twenty-six,” Lord Havers said drearily. “Would have been best he had the sense to die when Philip’s forces took the weapon intended for Marador. Horribly wounded, recovers just to face the gallows and serve in a military order? Better dead and remembered as a hero than what he is. How he bears such disgrace is beyond me.”
“He is a knight and he still serves,” Arundel said acidly. “There is a report on the king’s desk detailing the dispatching of five highwaymen just recently. A single knight did that and you know who it was.”
“And there is a load of Fromaerian equipment taken by a single knight and dumped at my feet followed by five bruised and humbled Fromaerian knights begging its return,” Harold said with irritation. “The work of a disgraced knight. As Arundel said, he still serves.”
“Is he a fool?” Viviane asked. “I know the details. If he knows how he ended up where he is and still shows such loyalty, one must wonder why. If he doesn’t know, well… either way, it seems foolish.”
“As Gilbert said, he is a knight, Viviane,” the king replied. “The games we conduct in court or here behind closed doors are beneath him.” Viviane’s expression was exactly as Harold envisioned. “Yes, beneath him. He wields a different power than we do. For that, I envy him. I also pity him. His sending the Fromaerians here was a jab at his king. A jest to remind me of his worth. A fool? No. A man driven by duty despite circumstances that would have broken a lesser man? Yes.”
“You were knighted during the Throne War, Sire,” Viviane said. “I have heard the story several times.”
“Yes. In the mud at the Battle of Creator’s Rock. Knighted, but never a knight, not in any sense but name. I was a usurper prince who acquitted himself upon the field of battle well enough to earn the title. When the war was over, I was king. Never a bit of errantry. Never serving a lord with sword and lance. A king’s fourth child destined for the life of a church bishop, turned usurper, turned titular war-leader, turned king. That doesn’t mean I do not know what it takes to make a great knight. Sir Dech is a balancing force, a mechanism that keeps the scale at a manageable tilt. The right knight in the right place can change the world. Do not ever doubt that.”
“And do not doubt the authenticity of your knighthood, Sire,” Arundel said. “I was not, nor am I now, one to grant the honor to those unworthy.”
Havers rolled his eyes but said nothing.
. . .
“Shall we?” Sir Oliver said as he and Wace drew near a waiting Sir Dech.
Without pausing for a response, the knight-commander rode through the east gate. The warder started his mounts moving and Wace brought his alongside.
“Based on your words with the king, you’ve never been to Fillister’s tower?”
“He had a manse here in the city the last I saw him, but that was some time ago. I have had little interaction with the king’s circle since joining the order.”
Wace nodded uncomfortably. “Andre had the tower built six or seven years ago. Near the village of Prudence. It was just before I joined the mage council.”
“I must assume it is a wizard’s tower and not simply a place of residence?”
“It is exactly that. The wards that would normally prevent easy access are apparently not in place based on the reports. He may have cast those that would cease upon his death.”
“Do we know how he died?”
“The report provided to me simply said ‘murdered.’”
As the three men exited the city, it became clear Brundell had little interest in chatting with either of his companions. Dech looked ahead and saw Oliver bring his horse to a canter and pull away without looking back.
“Shall we?” Wace asked with a gesture at the diminishing figure of the knight-commander.
“You can if you wish,” Dech replied. “I’ll marshal my horses’ pace. We may need to journey elsewhere if what we find at Fillister’s points to it.”
Wace smiled and stayed alongside.
Before long, Sir Oliver slowed his horse until the mage and warder caught up.
“We’re not on a tour to look at sights and wonders,” he said.
“We are also not carrying urgent dispatches,” Dech replied. “Save your mount. One never knows when trouble may arise.”
“You do not command me, Sir Dech.”
“I didn’t issue you a command, Oliver. Ride on alone then. We’ll be there soon enough.”
Sir Oliver snarled, but said nothing, nor did he resume the pace he held before.
. . .
Chapter 10
“Fillister’s tower is not far,” Wace said. “Round the next bend in the road and we wil
l be in sight of it.”
The trio cleared the tree line and as the mage said, the cylindrical tower stood a short ride away atop a small hill. As they neared the entrance, city guards from the nearby settlement of Prudence approached them.
“You be the mage Wace, yes?” one of them said. “Seen you before.”
“He is,” Sir Oliver said. “Where is Fillister’s body?”
“Taken away this morning I’m told. Burial I’d imagine.”
Oliver snorted. “And why was this done?”
“The flies were already at it when those that found him arrived to find the door open and Mage Fillister dead,” another guard stated. “His bloody clothes were to be burned, but the baron’s seneschal ordered nothing but Andre’s carcass be removed from the tower. Everything was to remain as it was.”
“That will be of vital importance, though we may have a difficult time learning how he died. The seneschal is to be commended,” Wace said.
“Seen the body. Learned already, Sir Mage. A sliced throat, that’s what done him in.”
. . .
The three entered the tower, Wace leading as he was familiar with the place. He took them to the second level, the living quarters. The smell of death and blood permeated the room, a stain of darkening red soiled a tapestry on the floor. The textile matched those of several others that hung from the walls with two gaps indicating a pair of them had been removed.
“What do we seek here?” Brundell asked as he waved at the flies that buzzed through the area. “It is obvious the guards have it right. The killer slit the mage’s neck right there.”
Wace nodded. “It seems that is the case. We seek more though. Why was he murdered? That is more important than how.”
“How he was murdered might lead to the why as well,” Dech said.
Brundell nodded. “Such is beyond my knowledge. I will not likely be of much use.”
“You have a keen eye, Sir Oliver,” Dech said. “Walk around and see if anything seems amiss.”
“Just do not move anything, please,” Wace said. Brundell bristled, but calmed when the mage added, “A simple touch may hinder my ability to sense evidence.”
“I see,” the knight-commander said. “I will be careful.”
As Oliver walked to the buttery, Wace raised a hand and said, “Let me do something about the insects. Casting a sign, flies soon rained to the floor and other surfaces in the room.
Dech and Wace looked at the dinner table still littered with the food and dishes from the previous evening’s meal. The mage passed a contorted hand over the open wine bottle, a sensory sign Dech knew was a dethatching spell.
“I detect a sedative agent, but one I am not familiar with,” Wace said. “Nightshade definitely, but I cannot tell of what sort. Mandragora I suspect. I’ll preserve some for the council to examine. I see nothing else here that might help us.”
“Nor do I,” Dech replied, “but it seems the assassin or assassins used a ruse of some form to gain entrance if they drugged the wine.” Two other place settings and a bucket that once held ale or beer seemed to point that way. He gestured at the fireplace. “There is a considerable amount of ashes.”
Wace nodded. “I noticed. Let’s see if we can discover what our killer or killers burned.”
Placed on the floor near the fireplace, Fillister’s clothing sat wrapped into a tight bundle.
“I’ll examine the clothing, if you’ll permit,” Dech said.
“Please do. I’ll look at the ashes, but first let me see if I can sense anything on the clothes. Doubtful, but we should be thorough.”
Brundell made his way back into the room as Wace passed his hands over the clothing.
“The buttery is bare of bottled wines, with only kegs, casks, and barrels of wine, beer, ale, and wodka,” the knight-commander reported. “I’d guess Sir Dech has it right. At least two killers… with a taste for spirits. The pantry looks as if it was rifled of some items, but I saw little else. Would you have me aid you in some other way?”
“The ashes here are remnants of books it seems,” Wace replied. “Would you see if Fillister’s working and sleeping area on the floor above has any books, scrolls, or notes?”
“I will.” He turned and walked to the stairs.
Wace lifted the bundle of clothes and passed them to Dech before crouching in front of the fireplace.
Fillister’s clothes were still moist with blood, a fact Dech discovered as he pulled apart the sticky items. Spreading them out on a small table along the wall, he saw no sign of damage.
“It seems there was no struggle,” Dech said. “I would hazard a guess he was not conscious when he died.”
Dech noticed slits low on the jacket Fillister had worn, openings lined with bags under the outer garment. He recognized them as pockets, a new contrivance and one that seemed most useful. He lifted the edge of the opening and saw folded paper within. He found more in the other pocket.
“The killer missed some documents,” Dech called to Wace.
“That’s something at least,” the mage said as he stood. “Let me see. I sense the remnants of magic left from several books in the hearth. I even recognize some of the titles by the traces still lingering. A few bits of paper, distorted metal fittings, and leather scraps from covers survived, but little else,” he said as he walked toward Dech.
Brundell descended the stairs. “There is not a scrap of paper, book, or scroll to be found up there. Looked in the drawers and cabinets, most of which were open. Found not a thing. Quite the mess up there.”
“So Andre’s entire collection may be gone.” Wace skimmed Fillister’s notes for a few seconds before shaking his head. “There is nothing here that helps us right now, but perhaps they’ll make sense at a later time.”
“Have we concluded our work?” Sir Oliver asked.
“I cannot think of anything else we might do,” Wace replied before turning to Dech. “You?”
“I do not.”
“Then we should depart,” Brundell said. “It will be very late when we arrive back in Cruxford as it is.”
Wace nodded with a scowl. “We return with few answers for the king.”
The three men filed down the stairs and exited the tower. As they climbed aboard their horses, a mounted member of the King’s Legion trotted up the road and halted his horse next to them. “Would you be the king’s party?” he asked.
“We are,” Brundell replied.
“Some travelers discovered a pair of dead men near the roadway about two hours ride south.”
“Just because we were sent to look into Fillister’s demise does not mean we’re here to look into every death in the region,” Brundell spat.
“My apologies, sir knight,” the legionnaire said with sarcasm. “Upon arrival in town I was told of your presence. Considering the two dead men are reported to wear the livery of the king, I thought it might be of interest.”
“It is,” Dech said. “Such garb might have served as a ruse to gain entry into a mage’s tower. I appreciate your diligence. We should look into this.”
“We were not sent to look into men killed while upon the king’s business. Two hours from here? We have no reason to think their deaths are in any way connected to Fillister’s. Even if it was, thieves have likely have departed with all worth taking by now,” Brundell said.
Dech nodded. “Perhaps, but it’s worth looking. Something may be gained for little effort.”
“Then you do it,” the knight-commander said curtly. “I’ll see Wace back to Cruxford.”
“If you find anything, send word,” the mage said.
“I will,” Dech answered before looking at the legionnaire. “Where are these bodies?”
“Follow the road south from town. A legion patrol is en route. Find them and that ought to be the place.”
Dech bid Oliver and Wace farewell and set off.
Several minutes later as Ridan carried Dech down the road, the sound of trotting hooves reached the warder’
s ears. He turned in the saddle and saw the mage Wace closing.
“I’ll be joining you,” the man shouted. He soon slowed and matched the pace of Dech and his two horses.
“I thought about it and agreed with your assessment,” Wace said. “It is worth looking into and I dread having so little information to report.”
“And Sir Oliver?”
“Heading for Cruxford to tell of what we know. He seemed satisfied with my suggestion we proceed in this fashion.”
“He cares not for mages… or me.”
Wace laughed. “I gathered that.”
Well into their trip, a group of travelers headed toward Prudence waved at them as they approached.
“There be a gruesome sight some ways ahead, sir knight,” a man said. “A legion patrol passed us not a quarter of an hour ago. Told them the same. Two men struck down by something awful. A gruesome sight indeed.”
Thanking the man, the pair continued on and soon found the King’s Legion patrol, a quartet of them who waved as they approached. They stopped and introduced themselves.
“Happy to see you,” a burly legionnaire said. “This isn’t the usual travelers struck down by brigands or animals. It’s something else. I pray it’s not some plague. They died horribly.”
“I wouldn’t worry for them,” Wace said. “They might be murderers.”
“Wasn’t them I was worried about. Me and Will there approached to five paces away. Might be close enough if it be pestilence.”
One of the other legionnaires nodded. “It’s odd. No sign of disturbance. No animals come to feed on them. Not even a fly buzzing near them despite food strewn about the area where they died.”
“Stay here. We’ll go have a look,” Wace said.
Closing with the bodies, Wace and Dech saw the two still wore the garb of the king’s household. “That might have also kept human scavengers away,” Wace said.
“Not likely,” Dech replied. “Their appearance provided the deterrence I think.”
“You make a good point,” Wace replied with a grimace. “I feel something as well, a magical source such as an enchantment or a ward, but I cannot tell what it is.”
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