Dech thanked the pair for their assistance and looked over the room one more time after they left. Finding nothing else that might further his investigation, he went in search of the man called Berle.
Harlin’s suggested starting point was a sound one and the warder found the hefty being stacking wooden posts near the stable. After introducing himself and explaining his reason for being there, they spoke.
“All the way from Cruxford to look into such a thing?” Berle said. “Ask, hate for such a long trip t’be for nothin’.”
“You found her that morning?”
He grimaced. “I did. She was a quiet one, but always took time to speak when we crossed paths. Not like some here. Checked her when I found her on the ground, but I’m no healer. Didn’t seem t’be breathin’ so I went for help.”
“Did you notice anything out of the ordinary? Unfamiliar footprints, items out of place?”
“Can’t say I did. Likely couldn’t spot my own prints. I’m no tracker. Nothin’ where it wouldn’t normal be… ‘cept Amelia.”
“Michaels and Harlin said she traveled with a courier bag. It wasn’t present when you found her?”
“No bag, though I never knew her not to take it. No cloak either.”
“No cloak, that was unusual?”
“Wouldn’t have mentioned it if it weren’t. Always wore it on trips she did. Always. Was her mother’s. Same horse she usually rode, same saddle as well, but they were the only ones there that morning.”
“Anything else unusual?”
“Maybe. Can’t say what she hit her head on. A dent and bruise on the left side,” he said tapping his own head. “Nothin’ for her to hit where she fell. Nothin’ within many paces. Weren’t no hoof or horseshoe either made that mark. But like I said, I’m no healer.”
Dech thanked the man and walked to the library. Borrowing quill and ink, he sat and penned three copies of a report to King Harold, the Grand Master of the Contrition Order, and the King’s Mage Council.
Investigation concerning Amelia Fallon, scholar and mage, academy library, Linsey.
Evidence is not conclusive but points strongly to murder and given the current climate, appears to indicate an assassination.
As scholar and researcher, she corresponded with many others in the field. Attached is a list of those with whom she had contact. Not knowing how Malig’s forces learned of Fallon, it seems prudent to locate these other scholars and protect them if they still live. It is clear the assassin/s did not locate Fallon’s notes as she kept them in a repurposed accounts ledger. Clear mention of discussed magic style in notes. Will send notebook to mage council via King’s Legion or Contrition Knight mission soonest.
-Dech, Warder, Order of Brothers of the Contrition House
. . .
Dech rode to the next town on the road where there was a King’s Legion post that served as a stop for the legion’s express riders, a service that covered the kingdom and provided the swiftest form of message delivery outside of magical means.
Arranging to have his letters sent with the next rider, Dech moved on, bound for the city of Drumming.
. . .
Scholars had long debated the number of infernal planes within the Underealm, but never had there been anything resembling a consensus among them. One known, but poorly understood and little studied, plane was called Ifrunn, its purpose unknown.
The infernal Plane of Ifrunn was one of constants. A grim place, it existed in perpetual ochre twilight with never ending winds and blowing grit. Devoid of vegetation, one could believe it was a land without life, but that would be an error.
Somewhere within the plane was the Valley of Desolation, a dull yellow flat of land edged by dark brown ridges. A roaring wind swirled and blasted dust down its length, a grinding constant that drove any traveler there to insanity unless one became inured to it.
Along a nearly vertical side of one ridge, a narrow ledge provided a walkway. Dotting the ridge side of this precarious pathway were hollow entries, portals into some of the few places of shelter in a bleak land.
A hooded and robed figure traipsed the hazardous path with seeming ease before he stepped into one such opening and made his way into the dark expanse inside. The man soon heard the echoing hisses and grunts of infernal creatures, but this did not deter him.
Far from the entry, fires burned and within the dancing shadows grotesque forms moved.
“What brings you, human?” a voice in the shadows hissed. “Do you bring tidings or seek refuge?” The speaker moved into the firelight, a large being with folded wings upon its back and reptilian claws on feet and hands.
The man recognized the creature, a demon of the Brynstone race called Buryel. An archton among his own, Buryel commanded respect and though he was loath to admit it, he had come to revere the visitor. “All is as it should be, Buryel. I bring tidings. Soon you will be free of Laerdavile’s tethers,” the man said.
“So you say, Olk Mirkness,” the archton replied. “Do not think we are blind to the tether that binds you as well.”
“Do you forget it is that which gives us common cause, demon?” Olk said. “Once free, you may roam the lands of mortals as you wish. Free of Laerdavile. Free of most magic that might hinder you.”
“We can be gods,” one in the gathering hissed.
Olk laughed hollowly. “Gods? No. You can die in the mortal realm as easily as any who dwell there. Keep that in mind or your stay will be a brief one.”
“And what if Laerdavile discovers your betrayal?” Buryel said.
“The plot is past that point. The Lord of the Vile will learn of our emancipation when I reveal it.”
“When? When do we stop hiding and cut the cords that bind us,” another monster asked.
“I told you, soon. Time passes far more slowly on the mortal plane than here, but the pieces are not yet in place. Bide your time. Gather your strength. Dream of predation. Above all else, stand ready, for when it is time, we must move swiftly.
. . .
“Remember what he said,” Rob admonished one of his friends as he pulled him from the training area dirt. “Turn the shield too far and—”
“You find yourself spitting dirt,” his friend finished with a smile. “Sir Dech was correct.”
Another of the group pushed Rob good-naturedly. “Your turn to eat grit.”
Rob laughed as he lifted a shield from the ground. “Not this day. Assail as you will, my shield shall take all,” he said boldly.
“The seat of your breeches already carries the stains of the training grounds,” the youth said as he hefted a training spear. “Prepare for more.”
The young man feinted a jab and crow-hopped to Rob’s right, launching a lunging strike at his opponent’s face.
A quick pivot and nimble rising turn of his shield forced the spear away, clearing Rob to land a ringing hit upon his attacker’s helm with the wooden training sword.
“That’s Dech’s work I’d wager,” Allan said as he joined the young men-at-arms. “Shield and sword working together is a tough nut to crack.”
“Come to show us a thing or two, Seneschal?” one of Rob’s friends asked. “We’re not so easily beaten these days,” he added with a grin.
Allan smiled. “I came to let young Master Robert here know his father will be returning in a few days, but since I hear challenge in that voice, yes, I’ve a thing or two you might not have seen in your wide travels. Veteran adventurers such as yourselves are ready for a few new wrinkles.”
Allan pushed the young men harder than he had in the past. Knowing the incident with the Fromaerians had opened their eyes and Dech’s tutelage had increased their skill, he too sought to add to their knowledge.
“No need for such a wide swing,” he said after fending off an attack. “Such takes time and time is often in short supply in a fight. Bring the blade up thus,” Allan said demonstrating his instruction with a short and wicked hack that sang in the air despite the wooden blade. “You hav
e the strength, so use it. Strength and a keen blade will defeat any mail and few opponents will put up much of a fight once their head parts their shoulders,” he said pressing the blade against his own neck.
“Don’t strike for the helm unless you have no other target,” he offered after one of the youths replicated Rob’s counter and strike against a spear attack. “That’s steel plate if you be fighting a well equipped knight, lad. Glass hard and plays bloody rough with the edge of a sword. Better the neck if it’s available. The blade will dull soon enough, no need to hasten it.”
Despite their best attempts, Allan bested them all both in attack and on defense, but he saw their skill had grown since last he had worked with them. They had given their all and learned much, and once their tongues were left hanging, Allan called an end to the instruction.
“You lads are getting there,” he praised. “Work hard at the craft of knightly weapons. Pursue it with all you have and you’ll be fine knights when it comes time. If the matter with Malig proves dire, that might be sooner than we might guess.”
“You may be better than Sir Dech,” one of Rob’s friends said as they shed helms and mail.
Allan laughed. “Better looking, certainly, but honesty compels me to say Sir Dech has no betters. Peers perhaps, but you’ll never see a better knight. Drill, lads. What happened with the Fromaerians seems to have taught you a thing or two. Dech as well and perhaps I added a bit myself. Drill will see to it you do the teaching next time. But for today, enough’s enough and there’s ale to be drunk.”
. . .
Dech went to the order house in Drumming upon arrival late in the day. Knowing he could do no more than arrange delivery of Fallon’s notes to Cruxford, he did so.
The next morning, the warder borrowed a horse to use, a mahogany bay, wanting Ridan and Otto to have a full day’s rest. Riding through the streets would take time as Drumming was the largest city in the northwest quarter of Arataine, rivaled only by the city of Shadow near Sky Castle guarding the border with Marador.
Dech dismounted at the entrance to a large courtyard within the city center. Dominating the area was Drumming Cathedral, one of the largest in the Southerlies. Following a path running along a high perimeter wall at the edge of the courtyard, he led his borrowed horse toward a row of buildings. The area was quiet and there was little traffic save for uniformed church folk and a few travelers there to gawk at the cathedral and its towering spires. The first building he passed was a priory positioned next to a long building hosting mostly church offices. Beyond the long building rested a seminary. The warder’s destination was within the long building, the only non-church establishment within the courtyard. An unusual arrangement to be sure, orchestrated for a pair of unusual men who worked in intrigue and information rather than matters of gods, spiritualism, or souls. A gold metal plate embedded in the stone near the door read,
LEOPHRIC & IVES,
A PRIVATE CONCERN
BY APPOINTMENT ONLY
Leophric and Ives were information brokers among other things. Long ago Dech had inquired how they were able to maintain a space on church grounds, a question they seemed to take delight in answering.
“We do the church favors every now and again,” Leophric said.
“That and generous donations keep us in their good graces,” Ives added. “Odd how such things grant absolutions and partiality.”
The pair had a limited clientele and expected those they dealt with to adhere to a few rules. Among these were: unless invited, visits were to be during daylight hours—discussion of Leophric and Ives, private or otherwise, was forbidden—and equally forbidden was referring anyone without approval from the two. Dech was something of an exception with permission to come and go as needed. Why they favored him was not something they shared. Despite this rare privilege, it was a favor he used as little as possible daylight or otherwise.
The door was unlocked—as it always was—and Dech stepped inside the large antechamber. The dark wood panels that covered the walls were the same as always, as were the teaming bookshelves, masterwork paintings, exquisite sculptures, and vibrant rare plants in ornate pots arranged along the walls.
The man behind the desk at the back wall was not the same as Dech had dealt with on prior visits. Another first was the man who was in the midst of a conversation with the deskman, the first fellow visitor Dech had ever encountered at Leophric and Ives. The deskman did not seem happy.
“You must have an appointment, sir,” he said.
“As you mentioned. Before I make an appointment, I would like assurance that I might receive the assistance I require.”
“What leads you to think you might find assistance from this concern? Were you referred to this office?”
“I was… in a fashion.”
“If you will not divulge your name then I must inquire as to the identity of this person.”
“I’m not comfortable sharing that information either.”
“Then I cannot help you, sir.”
The man grumbled. “It was Lord White, if you must know.”
The deskman nodded. “Please have a seat, sir. I will endeavor to contact Misters Leophric and Ives.”
The visitor pursed his lips and walked to a nearby chair saying nothing.
The man at the desk wrote on a sheet of paper, blotted the ink, folded it, then stood and walked through a nearby door that opened to the rear.
Dech moved across the room and waited near the desk.
“Rather odd this place and the way they conduct business,” the man in the chair said.
Dech turned slightly and looked at the man. Portly and well dressed, the warder guessed he was not used to dealing with the likes of Leophric and Ives. “This is not a business concern.”
The man raised his eyebrows. “Oh? And just what is this place then?”
Dech smiled faintly. “The plate on the front of the building is quite clear. This is a private concern.”
“And just what does that mean?”
“You might ask them if you have the opportunity.”
“Are you here to deal with them?” the man asked. “Odd such a place be here and even more odd that an armored man-at-arms might frequent it.”
“There is little reason to be here other than dealing with them.”
The deskman opened the door and returned to his station before speaking. He looked to Dech first. “Warder, they will see you now,” he said as if he were familiar with Dech.
The man in the chair huffed as he pushed himself from his seat. “I’ll not be—”
“This knight has an appointment, sir,” the deskman said.
The man began what Dech guessed would be a long tirade as he entered the office and closed the door.
On the right side of the large room littered with cabinets, tables, books, maps, and stacks of paper were two occupied desks positioned side by side. A tall and gaunt man with dark hair occupied the desk farthest from the door, a wiry blond man with impish blue eyes the nearest, Leophric and Ives respectively.
“We knew you would be along, Sir Dech,” Ives said with flashing eyes. “Quite a time we live in, yes?”
“I require your services,” Dech said.
“It’s been nearly six seasons since you last did,” Leophric said. “Grown weary of dealing with mere highwaymen and foreign knights and have taken up the king’s business once again?”
“That ability to garner information is why I am here. You must be busy. First time I have ever seen another client here.”
“Potential client,” Ives corrected.
“And one we would serve with reluctance should we aid him,” Leophric added.
“You know who he is?”
“We do,” Leophric said. “We also know why he is here. He overheard an earl telling a tale of our intervention on his behalf. That is not proper conduct, but the damage is done.”
Ives nodded. “Creator knows if any others follow in his wake.”
“I take it you
’re hoping he’ll just go away?”
The two looked at the warder with irritation but said nothing.
“Are you going to help him?”
Ives laughed without any expression, an oddity he often displayed. “Your arrival seems most timely and fortuitous. We thought you might.”
Dech glared. “I’m working on a mission for the order.”
Both men nodded. “We are aware,” Leophric said. “The Grandmage Mirkness and Old King Lunacy attempting to remove Harold from his throne and if rumored whispers mean anything, are willing to unleash an ancient evil upon the land to get what they seek. Just another old prophecy to be dealt with by capable men like you.” He paused to glance at his partner. “What would this one be in the unlikely event it comes to fruition, the Fifth Cataclysm?”
“Fourth. Which is why our friend out front should present you little bother, Sir Dech,” Ives said. “A knight willing to fight the avatar of the Lord of the Vile should have no issue with dealing with a man in need.”
“I do not have time to—”
“And if we must resolve the pending problem seated outside ourselves, we most certainly will not have the time or resources to assist you, the king, and the Order of Contrition Knights. We do not prioritize. All cases handled in order of acceptance.”
“And should you aid us, we will assist you with your current mission. After all, you would be the forefront case at that point. The same arrangement as always.”
Dech continued to glare, shifting his gaze between Leophric and Ives several times.
“You’ll start ticking if you do not cease,” Ives said.
“You look like an angry clock,” Leophric added. “It’s not becoming.”
Dech snorted. “Before we agree to anything, what does the man out front need?”
“Oh, the usual sort of thing we do not assist with, but are nonetheless asked to perform far too often.”
“That’s not an answer,” Dech said. “I am tempted to take the time it would require to travel to Shadow and seek assistance from Rasimus. He might be every bit as underhanded and manipulative as you two, but at least there’s only one of him.”
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