by Ben Cassidy
Joseph nodded, but said nothing. He leaned his head back against the high back of the chair.
Maklavir stepped up to Kendril. “We can’t find Kara while we’re stuck here,” he whispered. “What are the gendarmes going to do with us?”
“I don’t know,” Kendril whispered back. He glanced at Joseph to make sure the scout wasn’t overhearing them. “We have to wait this out. Madris knows what she is doing.”
“Kara may not have much time,” Maklavir responded. “The other Ghostwalkers keep talking about tomorrow night being important—”
“The new moon,” Kendril said. “Bronwyn will be able to use the Soulbinder then.”
Maklavir rolled his eyes. “Lovely. But why did this witch take Kara with her? And where are they now?”
Kendril looked across the hall to where Baron Dutraad was heatedly discussing something with Captain Potemkin. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I have a feeling that Dutraad there is the key.”
Maklavir raised his eyebrows in confusion. “I thought you said Dutraad’s wife was the one supporting Bronwyn and this cult?”
Kendril nodded. “But Baron Dutraad is the only link we have to Lady Dutraad. Unless we find something here in the house, he’s the best bet we have to finding Bronwyn and Kara.”
“But what—?” Maklavir started to ask.
Potemkin, Dutraad, Olan, and Madris walked towards them.
Dutraad’s face was a storm of rage. “I want all of them executed, Captain. Immediately.”
“Please, my lord,” Potemkin replied, “we’re still trying to straighten out the details here.”
“Details?” Dutraad eyed the group of Ghostwalkers. “These fantaics invaded my home, killed my personal guard, threatened my servants, and attempted to rob me. What more details could you possibly need?”
“Your house has been the center of a cult of Seteru worship in Vorten,” Madris said calmly. “A cult which you may very well have been aware of, Baron.”
“That’s preposterous,” Dutraad thundered. “By Eru, Captain, if you don’t handle this right now I’ll see that you never work in this town again. Don’t think I can’t. Take these Ghostwalkers outside and shoot the lot of them.”
“I understand your frustration, my lord,” Potemkin responded in a conciliatory tone. “I am as—” he glanced at the group of black-cloaked Ghostwalkers, “suspicious of these cultists as you are. But their arguments do have some disturbing merit to them. My men found certain…” he shifted uncomfortably, “books in your rooms that are occultic in nature.”
Dutraad gave Olan and Madris a hate-filled glare. “I collect esoteric volumes, Captain, nothing more. Surely you don’t think that I am some kind of…of…Seteru worshipper?”
“I understand, my lord,” the steady Potemkin replied. “But as you can see, I have to withhold any rash decisions until I can determine—”
A gendarme, his bearskin hat glistening with melted snow, came up to the Captain and saluted. “My apologies, Captain. One of the Ghostwalkers has returned.”
Potemkin lifted his bushy eyebrows in surprise.
Madris nodded. “That would be Wanara. I believe you will find what she is bringing with her most enlightening, Captain.”
Potemkin gave the elderly Ghostwalker a strange look, then nodded at the gendarme. “Show the Ghostwalker in, sergeant.”
The man motioned to the doors of the great hall.
Wanara entered the room, escorted by two burly gendarmes. She came up to Potemkin, bowed her head, and handed him a letter.
“I demand to know what this is all about,” Dutraad roared. “This is my house, for Eru’s sake.”
Potemkin examined the parchment in his hand. He looked up at Madris and Olan. “This is the royal seal of Valmingaard,” he said.
“That it is,” said Madris.
Dutraad snapped his mouth shut.
The surrounding gendarmes looked at their Captain curiously.
Potemkin tore open the letter and stepped close to one of the room’s glow-globes. He read in silence for a minute or so, then turned back around. “Sergeant, give these Ghostwalkers back their arms. They are to be treated with every courtesy and respect. Is that understood?”
The gendarme stared at his commanding officer in shock. “Sir?”
Potemkin waved the letter in his hand. “This is a writ of authorization straight from the King himself.” He glared over at Madris and Olan. “You might have saved a lot of trouble if you had shown this to me before all…this.”
“I’ve never had to use it before,” Madris confirmed. “We Ghostwalkers prefer to work in the shadows whenever possible, Captain. When we step into the light our enemies see us as well as our allies But now we need your help. Vorten is in serious danger.”
“This is outrageous!” Dutraad screamed. He pointed a finger at the Ghostwalkers. “Captain, as Eru is my witness, I swear if you don’t arrest these murderers right now I’ll have you guarding coal mines in Kalingland!”
“Apologies, my lord,” Potemkin responded stiffly, “but I’m afraid that I can’t argue with a Royal writ.” He eyed Olan and Madris suspiciously. “These Ghostwalkers have friends in high places.”
“So do I,” Dutraad snapped. “The King will hear about this, I promise. I’ll have you all hanged.”
Madris took a step towards the baron, her cane tapping on the hard floor of the hall. “We shall see, Baron Dutraad. In the meantime, we have questions to ask you concerning your wife and staff. Captain Potemkin, I formally request that this man be remanded into our cust—”
One of the gendarmes, a man just to Potemkin’s left, unslung his musket from where it hung on his shoulder.
Potemkin turned in surprise. He opened his mouth to say something.
“Despair rises!” the gendarme shouted. He swung the loaded musket up to his shoulder.
It was pointed at Dutraad.
The baron fell back. He raised one hand instinctively to protect himself against the inevitable shot.
Kendril leaped forward, but he was too far away.
The musket flashed and exploded.
The bullet pounded into the ceiling above. Bits of plaster floated down from the impact.
Olan had one strong hand on the barrel of the musket he had wrenched up just in time.
Potemkin drew his saber.
The gendarme let go of the spent musket and went for a pistol tucked into his belt.
Olan didn’t pause. He grasped the musket with both hands and slammed the stock into the gendarme’s face.
The man crashed back to the floor, his face a bloody mess.
Another gendarme stepped forward and swung his musket up towards Dutraad.
Olan snapped his head over towards the new threat. “Kendril!” he barked.
Kendril slammed his elbow into the man’s face.
The gendarme crashed back into the wall by the hearth. The musket was still clenched in his hands. He twisted it, bringing it to bear on Kendril.
Kendril snarled like a wolf released from a cage. He crashed bodily into the gendarme and drove the man hard against the wall.
The musket banged out.
The shot knocked out a leg from a nearby table. It crashed to the floor along with about a dozen plates.
The gendarme struggled for his sword.
Kendril rammed his fist into the man’s face.
The gendarme’s head lurched back, cracking hard against the wall behind him. He slumped to the ground.
The first gendarme staggered back to his feet. His pistol was in his hand.
“Stand down, gendarme!” Potemkin roared. The tip of his saber was pointed at the gendarme’s throat.
Dutraad melted back behind a table. Sheer terror was on his face.
The first gendarme stared at Potemkin, then Dutraad.
“I gave you an order!” Potemkin bellowed. “Drop that pistol, gendarme!”
“You will all burn in the fires of Despair,” the man said. He smiled
through the blood that streamed down his face. “The goddess rises.”
Before anyone could react, he put the pistol to his head and pulled the trigger.
Everyone in the room stared at the two fallen gendarmes for a moment in horrified silence.
Potemkin himself seemed completely at a loss. “What on Zanthora--?” he said at last. He stared at the shattered body of the man who had been one of his gendarmes just a few seconds before. “How--?”
“Eru in Pelos,” Madris breathed. “This situation is more severe than I imagined.” She looked up at Olan and Kendril. “Vorten has been compromised.”
Kendril picked up the fallen gendarme’s sword. He looked back at Madris. “That’s what one of the kitchen maids told me. I thought she was exaggerating.”
Potemkin whirled to face Madris. “Are you telling me that these…cultists are everywhere in the city?”
Madris peered down at the corpse of the first gendarme. “They’ve certainly infiltrated your command, Captain.”
There was a moment of silence in the hall.
Potemkin looked at the gendarme sergeant. “Have the men’s barracks searched. If any gendarme is found in possession of occultic pamphlets or materials, they are to be immediately arrested. Is that understood?”
The sergeant blinked. “Which barracks, sir?”
“All of them,” Potemkin snapped. “The whole city. See to it personally, sergeant. Assign men you can trust.”
The gendarme sergeant stared at the two fallen men. “Begging your pardon, sir, but five minutes ago I thought we could trust them.”
“We need to speak with the Lord Mayor,” Madris said in her quiet voice. “Immediately, Captain.”
Potemkin nodded his head. His eyes were still fastened on the dead body just a few yards away from him. “Garonin. Served under me for…four, five years?” He shook his head in bewilderment. “This is insane. Absolutely insane.”
Dutraad stared wildly at the two fallen gendarmes. “I want protection, Captain! Trustworthy men—” His eyes lit up as an idea flashed into his head. “My regiment. I need to call them up—”
“Ashes you will,” growled Olan. “You’ll be in protection all right, your lordship. Our protection.”
Dutraad’s mouth fell open. His face was deathly white. “Look, I—I don’t know anything. About any of this. I had no idea that—well, that Mina, or Brionne—”
“You know something,” said Kendril sharply. “Even if you don’t realize it.” He pointed at the two fallen gendarmes. “They wouldn’t have tried to kill you if you didn’t.”
Potemkin gave Dutraad a long hard look. “By royal decree, I am required to extend you Ghostwalkers every courtesy, but the line stops at allowing you to take an innocent man and torture him for information.”
“Hardly innocent,” Kendril mumbled.
Madris shot the Ghostwalker a glare. “I assure you, Captain, there will be no torture. But I must insist that Baron Dutraad be formally remanded into our custody. I am afraid that time here is of the essence.”
Potemkin scrunched up his face. “Why? Are these cultists plotting something?”
Kendril and Olan exchanged glances. Maklavir cleared his throat.
“I think that is something I should discuss with the Lord Mayor,” Madris replied.
Potemkin frowned. “I see.” He looked down at the letter in his hand. “This is all highly irregular.”
“I know, Captain,” Madris continued in her infinitely patient tone. “But it is necessary. Many lives are at stake here.”
Potemkin gave the elderly woman a sour glance. “I would say I have only your word on that, but it seems that two of my own gendarmes have made a very convincing argument for your position. I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt for now, at least until the Lord Mayor gives me other orders.”
Madris gave a polite bow of her head. “Thank you, Captain.”
Potemkin gestured to the baron. “Dutraad is now in your custody, Madris. Question him all you like, but I expect him to come to no harm in your care. And for now I want him to remain here at his estate.”
Dutraad’s eyes burned with fire. “You…mark my words, Captain, I’ll have your head for this.”
“You may indeed, your lordship,” Potemkin responded amiably, “but considering the circumstances that’s a risk I’m willing to take.”
Olan and Hamis grabbed the flustered Dutraad and escorted from the room, followed closely by two of Potemkin’s gendarmes.
“We would also like to interrogate that one as well,” Madris asked gently. She nodded her head at the unconscious gendarme, now disarmed and surrounded by two other burly gendarmes.
“He’s one of mine,” Dutraad responded roughly. “Or at least he made us think he was. You can question him after I’m done with him.” He handed the royal letter back to Madris. “Sorry, Ghostwalker, but courtesy only goes so far. I’ve got a city to protect here, and I need answers.”
“So do we all.” Madris took the letter and tucked it away inside her black cloak. “Things may well get worse before they get better, Captain. I hope we can trust on your full support?”
Potemkin pulled himself up to his full height. “Trust seems to be something in short supply as of late, Madris.”
“Fair enough,” the elderly woman agreed. She turned and limped from the room, her cane clacking across the floor as she went.
Joseph stood from the chair with a grunt. He swayed and balanced himself by grabbing the mantelpiece.
“And where do you think you’re going?” Makalvir said with a raised eyebrow. “You can barely stand, for Eru’s sake.”
“Someone has to find Kara,” Joseph said between breaths, “and we’re not going to do it by sitting around here.”
Kendril sighed and looked over towards the door. “Dutraad is our best bet, Joseph. Right now, he’s our only one.”
“I hope so,” said Joseph between his teeth. He turned to face the Ghostwalker. “Because Eru help me, Kendril, if anything happens to her I’m holding you responsible.”
“Now, Joseph,” said Maklavir in a low voice, “this isn’t Kendril’s fault. He didn’t mean to—”
“Didn’t he?” Joseph retorted. “I’m starting to wonder if Olan was right about you, Kendril. Do you really care about anyone? Or are we all just playing pieces on a gameboard to you?” He wiped cold sweat from his forehead, his hand clenched tight on the mantelpiece. “I won’t let you sacrifice Kara, Kendril. Not now, not ever. Do you understand?”
The Ghostwalker glowered at his friend, but didn’t respond.
“Sit down, Joseph,” Maklavir ordered in a firm but kind voice. “Callen said you shouldn’t be on your feet yet.” He put a hand on Joseph’s shoulder. “We’ll find her, old boy, you have my word. Now Tuldor’s beard, sit down before you pass out.”
Joseph looked over at Kendril. “You’re all about penance, right? Well add this to your list. Get Kara back.”
He collapsed down into the chair again, out of breath.
Kendril stared down at his friend for a moment, then turned and walked out of the room.
Chapter 8
The first thing Kara felt as she slowly regained consciousness was the throbbing pain in the back of her head.
The second was grinding self-blame.
It came back to her all in one fuzzy moment. The Dutraad estate. The guards chasing her. Opening the strongbox.
The Soulbinder. Eru, she had had it in her hands, and then…
And then she had let someone sneak up behind her.
Some thief she was. Back in New Marlin she would never have been so careless. She was just lucky that she had only got a knock on the head, and not a knife across her throat.
She tried to move her arms.
Nothing. They were tied securely behind her back. She couldn’t even feel her hands any more. The ropes were so tight they had completely cut off the circulation.
So he had been captured. But by who? And what for?
Why had they not just killed her?
Not, of course, that she wasn’t grateful to still be alive.
Her legs were tied, too. There was a gag in her mouth that tasted awful.
She blinked her eyes open, trying to take stock of her surroundings.
It was dark. The air smelled of dust, mold, and mothballs. Looking around, she saw several unmoving figures standing in rows on either side.
Startled, it took her a moment to realize that she was looking at racks of clothing, with various hats and helmets hanging on top.
So where was she? A closet? If so, it was certainly a large one.
Kara peered hard at the clothes hanging in front of her. Through the gloom she began to make out capes, suits of armor, fur-lined vests, and silken robes from the Spice Lands.
Costumes. They were costumes.
It was a closet, then. Some kind of costume and props closet for…for what?
Kara twisted, pulling at the ropes that bound her fast.
It was no good. Whoever had tied her up had certainly known what they were doing. The ropes didn’t give an inch.
There was a whining creak as the door to the room opened. A golden light bobbed into view, illuminating a pale face above it.
Kara stopped struggling and stared at the newcomer.
It was Bronwyn.
“I know you can’t speak, so I won’t bother to ask you any questions,” said the witch with a smile. She set the candle down on the floor next to the bound redhead. “Honestly, it wouldn’t make much of a difference anyway.”
Kara glared at the dark-haired woman. She didn’t bother at trying to spit any words past the gag or twisting uselessly in her bonds. She was determined not to give Bronwyn that pleasure.
“So,” said Bronwyn as she knelt down near Kara, “you’re finally awake, and you’re no doubt wondering why you’re not dead yet. I think that’s a fair enough question.” She drew a dagger from behind her back. The steel reflected the orange candlelight. “I could kill you right now if I really wanted to.” She gave a smug grin. “Truth be told, you falling into my hands right now is an unexpected boon. I have use for you.” She slid the edge of the dagger up against Kara’s throat.